An Exercise in Futility
by Teenwitch
Summary: We always believe our first love is our last, and our last love is our first.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** I refuse to go through this again. I will cry if you remind me they are not really mine.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the technical difficulties and that the story was taken down, I apologise.  
And yes, I know I have become queen of the flashback fics, but I can't _help_ it. It's such an untapped portion of the CSI universe -- and I find Sara's past particularly intriguing. I'm not exactly sure what direction I am taking with this, but I would really like your comments and opinions.

Also, never fear, an update of **A Trial of the Heart** should be up shortly.

**Summary:** We always believe our first love is our last, and our last love is our first.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter one**

_San Francisco, California  
1988_

The fuzzy realm of unconsciousness was momentarily difficult to escape, and when she finally opened her eyes, the first outline she could make out in the dim moonlight was a green Christmas tree; a tacky air freshener swinging idly to and fro in the gentle night breeze.

Her head was cushioned on something hard and smooth, and she twisted, wincing at the pain in her neck from lying in such an unnatural position as she slowly sat up, realising she had wound up sprawled on her back in the back seat of someone's car.

She closed her eyes, tasting the alcohol in her mouth before she hit a telltale empty bottle with her left foot on the floor. Bracing her hands on the open car door, she climbed out on wobbly feet, slowly taking in her surroundings.

They were in a flat clearing, air fresh and clear and lacking the stifling pollution of the city. Thick trees lined the outer rims of the small clearing, and damp, green grass stretched away from their haphazard park on a dirt track.

She stopped as a wave of nausea hit her, waiting for it to pass as she leant her back against the polished side of the old SUV. She squinted slightly, and even in the dim moonlight she could discern a male form spread out flat on the grass, staring vacantly at the starry sky.

His head lifted when her foot crunched on a piece of bark, and lolled back on the soft green earth so he could study her.

"Hey".

She swallowed, wondering how she had possibly gotten herself into this situation. She couldn't remember his name, and his friends and her foster brother were noticeably absent.

"Where… is everyone?" she asked, licking her lips when she realised her tongue was dry and parched.

He slowly shook his head, and judging by the pain it appeared to cause him, she assumed he was as wasted as she was. "I don't know.

He patted the damp grass beside him, closing his eyes. "Stargaze with me. It's Sara, right?"

She hesitated, deciding the ground looked marginally more inviting than the back seat. And without the others-- and undoubtably the car keys-- she decided they were probably going to be there for a while.

Sara made her way over, settling slowly on her back beside him, letting her brown gaze wander up dimly to the sky.

"It's so bright", she observed, surprised, feeling a dull throbbing in the back of her skull.

He chuckled beside her, and she was suddenly incredibly repentant she didn't remember his name. "Yeah. That's why I like it out here so much."

The entire night was a blur. Most of them were, really. She had been with her current foster family for three weeks, and she had been spiralling into a fit of depression long before she met the Foresters. She had been in the system for two years now, and moved about too frequently to even pretend she had become settled.

In those first few weeks, when she was still an innocent thirteen year old, battered and vulnerable from her violent childhood, she would have wondered how family services had cleared a family like the Foresters. Now she just knew how easy it was to hide anything, as long as you were getting compensation in return.

Her foster brother Ryan was seventeen, and had been in and out of group homes for most of his life. He had been with the Foresters for six months when she got there. They developed some mediocre of closeness in the extremity of their home situation, and he invited her out to escape with his friends.

In the darkness, she could barely make out the features of the guy lying beside her, but she knew she didn't recognise him. Ryan didn't have many friends, and she knew all of them. He wasn't one of them.

He was handsome, she decided, with intense, dark brown eyes and slightly scraggly, unkempt brown hair. He looked about eighteen.

He obviously noticed her scrutiny-- subtlety was hardly her strong point, even when she was sober. He chuckled. "You don't remember me, do you?"

She hesitated, and then shrugged. "No. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Myles Davies. I knew your brother from the group home before I left for L.A. I've only been back a few days".

Sara drew in a breath, taking in the musky odour of the damp grass. She could feel it seeping into her skin, through the cotton of her shirt, but she didn't care. "L.A.?" she said slowly. "If I left Frisco for L.A., I would have stayed there".

Myles sounded amused. "You've obviously never been there".

She didn't reply, closing her eyes again.

"This is my favourite place in the world", he said softly. His voice had a very lulling quality, and Sara found tiredness overtaking her again.

"I like it here", she admitted in agreement.

"You don't seem like the kind of person to be out here, though".

Sara frowned, feeling a little defensive. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't mean it as a bad thing. Just let me give you some advice. Ryan isn't as nice as he acts sometimes. Be careful around him. He has some bad stuff in his past".

"Who doesn't?" she muttered softly.

Myles smiled slightly. "Yeah. Well, I'm serious about this."

She swivelled her head, glancing at him with a crinkle in her brow. "You don't even know me. Why are you warning me about him?"

"Maybe you look like a nice girl", he said vaguely, turning his head back towards the sky. A small smile twitched at his mouth as he closed his eyes. "Maybe you look like you got a shot at getting out of this life, unlike the rest of us".

Sara stared at him; doubtful he could glean that much from just a few short words with her. "How could you possibly know that?"

"You're still in high school, right?" he guessed.

"Yeah".

He nodded, warming to his theory. "I'm guessing you're a perfect student. You get straight As, maybe you're into science a little, and you get left alone because people like you always threaten people like them. You like to learn things, but maybe sometimes you don't try because you just don't see the point. You think you're going to end up like your mother, like your father-- whichever screw-up in your family was the one who landed you in foster care."

Sara blinked, swallowing, surprised at how well he'd been able to read her. He nodded at her silence, folding his arms over his chest to generate some level of warmth. "Yeah. See what I mean, Sunshine? You can't hide yourself as well as you think you can. I know exactly who you are".

00000000000

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
Present Day_

Sometimes Sara liked to amuse herself by wondering how long Ecklie was going to stay in his present position of dictatorship.

She knew that Bobby Dawson would have started a pool to take odds on that very bet, hadn't he been in serious fear for his job. Other, kinder superiors would have taken it in their stride, accepted the joke in the situation and moved on with only minor disciplinary action, if any, at all.

Not Conrad Ecklie. He strived to make their jobs as difficult as possible day in, day out, vindictiveness and personal fury colouring his every decision as assistant director.

Sara had no doubt he took a great amount of personal gratification in her current predicament.

Swing shift was, not surprisingly, tapped short again, and needed the nightshift's help with a high profile case that the team would have tackled with ease a year ago. She wondered if it had been Ecklie's intention to create personal divisions between them all when he made the team split.

In any case, she was sure he was enjoying the fact that she was working with Catherine again, eagerly anticipating the moment one of them would make a personal slip, and her suspension could manifest into a more permanent punishment.

She and Grissom had agreed to give their assistance on the case, and the nightshift supervisor had already arrived at the scene, an impressive ranch style house on the outer fringes of Vegas.

Things with Catherine had improved slightly over the last few weeks, but neither of them had apologised about their previous misdemeanour, and the car ride over was stiflingly quiet. Sara was making a conscious effort not to say anything to Catherine that might be taken the wrong way, and Catherine was obviously determined she wasn't going to say anything at all.

They all knew about Catherine's inappropriate relationship with a murder suspect recently, and the fact that she had covered up her involvement in the case. It wasn't Sara's suspension that was creating this newfound tension between them. It was, rather interestingly, the newfound rift the event appeared to have caused between Grissom and Catherine.

Sara had never seen Grissom so utterly _cold _towards Catherine, and Catherine was clearly making it her agenda to have a beef with all members of the nightshift in response by default.

Sara sighed deeply, watching as the yellow stretch after stretch of Nevada desert swept by outside.

Their case was, apparently, the murder of a rich heiress at a horse and cattle ranch, a ranch that happened to be owned by Senator Hollander, and acted as his home away from home whenever he visited Vegas. His daughter had returned home from college in New York for a brief holiday with her family, and her body had been discovered mauled in a paddock belonging to several prize stallions.

Over the phone, Brass had sounded positively distasteful, like he couldn't quite tell if the man was more upset about his horses or his daughter. Sara did not look forward to the case. She had learnt the hard way last year that high profile cases received an annoying amount of priority above other crimes, and were not going to be helpful for her career any time soon.

They pulled up outside a set of imposing wrought iron gates, and Catherine slowed to a crawl, halting the Tahoe behind a police cruiser and the unmarked coroner's van.

Sara mutely retrieved her kit from the backseat, following the swing shift supervisor around a maze of pine built enclosures, where several impressive horses grazed idly, ignoring the sudden buzz of voices around them.

A narrow enclosure running alongside the side of a stable was obviously the site of their crime scene.

Brass stood firmly on the outer side of the fence, tapping his notepad vaguely against the side of his thigh. He unconsciously tugged on his tie to loosen it against the stifling heat every moment or so. His face was drawn and stressed. She knew high profile cases got to him and that he wasn't a huge fan of politics-- though he knew how to play hardball when he had to.

Crouched low over the mangled body of Veronique Hollander was David Phillips, who frowned as he contemplated the best way to estimate her time of death.

At last he decided to swivel around to her abdomen, where several hoofs had clearly indented her flesh, and slid the thermometer tentatively into her liver.

The body was facedown, but it was clear how much damage she had sustained. Her legs were torn from being trampled on, and her clothing was ripped and impossibly dirty, like she had almost melded into the ground below. Her arms were spread out at impossible angles, and her neck looked snapped, and Sara sincerely hoped for the victim's sake that she had already been dead when that had happened.

Leaning heavily against the fencepost beside Brass, was Nick Stokes, who swiped irritably at a fly as it buzzed around his sweaty features. On the other side of the body, standing opposite David, was Gil Grissom, who studied the area with a contemplative distance that she would have found disturbing, had she not known him so well.

"Good morning, boys", Catherine said dryly, announcing their presence as she and Sara came to a halt at the periphery of the enclosure.

Brass glanced around at them, lifting an eyebrow darkly. "Gee. How nice of you ladies to finally show up".

Catherine blinked back at him coolly, accepting his sarcasm without offence. "It doesn't look like you've been here that long, Jim".

Brass grumbled under his breath, looking uncharacteristically irritable and messy in his otherwise immaculate suit and tie. "Long enough. The A/C in my car is fried, and it was a long trip".

Nick smirked, looking incredibly amused, and nodded his head in greeting to Sara.

Sara smiled back, glance sliding away from his when she realised Grissom had lifted his eyes to look at her. His gaze unconsciously darted to Catherine before returning to her, and she offered him a grim smile in reply. Something unidentifiable flitted behind his eyes before he looked down again, and she sighed deeply. She felt like some kind of intangible bond had formed between them over the last year, but at the same time, they felt more distanced than ever before.

"So, how do we know this isn't an accident?" she spoke up at last, gaze descending over the body in consideration, lowering her kit to the dusty earth.

Nick tapped the pine post beside him glibly, looking incredibly in his element. She wondered if it was because she had always imagined him in this kind of setting, knowing he was from Texas.

"Well, it'd be hard to say without a proper autopsy, but I'd say the big old wound on her head might have something to do with it".

Sara frowned, sliding through the fencepost with effortless grace, and glanced more closely at the body.

Sure enough, a deep wound covered the back of Veronique's skull, matting her once blonde hair with blood. She frowned, attempting to remain doubtful. "She could have sustained that from the fall…"

David rose to his feet, as Grissom commented, "If you look closer, you'll see there are tool mark impressions in her skull".

Sara did so, unable to conceal her wince when she noticed said injury. "Ouch", she muttered darkly.

She glanced up, realising there wasn't much distance between she and Grissom now she had moved closer, and unconsciously took a step back.

David cleared his throat. "Time of death was about two hours ago. She's all yours".

"Thanks, David", Grissom acknowledged, turning to glance around grudgingly at Catherine. "I think we can assume that the killer is still here".

Nick nodded in agreement, before Catherine could offer an opinion. "It's about an hour back into Vegas, and it's the middle of a work day. I'll see if any of the ranch hands are missing, or if they noticed anyone leaving the property."

He had unintentionally fallen into sync with Grissom, and Sara could see the act annoyed Catherine. She felt a swell of sympathy for the blonde. She knew what it was like to be the outsider, and now suddenly, Catherine was on the fringes of the team, not one of them, but clearly not an accepted leader, either.

"Where's Warrick?" she asked, glancing at Grissom as Nick slid through the fence, striding towards the stables.

He gestured inside. "He's checking the girl's room. Apparently she had received several death threats from an anonymous source since returning to Vegas."

She slanted an eyebrow, glancing warily at Catherine, attempting to anticipate how they were going to play this out.

Catherine sighed, sounding rather resigned. "How about you two take the body? I'll go see what Warrick's found, and then talk to the parents."

Brass swiped his brow, looking relieved, and she wasn't quite sure if it was because they had avoided a disagreement, or because he was allowed to go inside. "I'll go with you. They were both too distraught to get a statement before. How genuine it was, well…"

The pair strode off in silence, and Sara swiped her hands distantly on her jeans, reaching through the fence to retrieve her kit and snap on a pair of gloves.

Grissom watched her for a moment, lowering to a crouch over the body.

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, allowing David to cart away the body, and continuing their examination of the scene. A messy blood trail ran through the dirt away from the victim into the covered area of the enclosure, and Sara followed it until she found clear blood splatter cast over the top of a fence post.

"Splatter", she announced briefly, lifting a swab to test it fluidly.

Grissom rose to his feet, striding over to inspect it over her shoulder as Nick reappeared on the other side of the fence.

"All staff are accounted for", he announced, and Sara felt the warmth at her back retreat as Grissom moved away to approach the male CSI.

She clipped the swab closed, glancing around to see if she could pinpoint the item that had the potential to be their murder weapon. The end of the paddock was covered by shelter, and assembled on its walls were several coils of rope, saddles and brushes. A few rusty tools were hung in chaotic locations, but none looked as if they had been recently disturbed.

Sara chewed her lip, striding over to join Grissom and Nick.

"It looks like they might have taken the murder weapon with them", she reported, leaning on the fence.

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "Which indicates premeditation, perhaps".

"Well, any one of the people working here could have been the killer", Nick said, flipping open a page of notes. "One of the officers got me a list of all their employees. Seven ranch hands, two cooks, a gardener and a maid. And not one of them are a fan of the Hollanders or their daughter".

"None of them are missing?" Sara asked.

He shook his head. "No. Of course, all of them said it was possible someone came up to the house unnoticed, and left again. Apparently Veronique has a lot of unannounced visitors; the kind that make Daddy very unhappy".

"The death threats seem to point in that direction", Grissom mused.

Nick shrugged. "I still think there's somethin' off with these people. I asked Officer Johnson to get a sample of all of their handwriting, but a lot of them are Spanish and speak very little English".

"I suppose it's time to touch base with Catherine and Warrick", Grissom said slowly.

Sara glanced at Nick, who was obviously well aware of the tension between the pair. He waited until they joined him on the other side of the fence, and she was surprised when he spoke up about it.

"You know, Griss, I don't want to step on any toes here, but this thing with Catherine…"

Grissom glanced at him mutely, with the kind of stone faced glare that sent even the toughest of criminals into meek silence.

Sara, wisely, decided to stay out of the conversation. She hefted her kit against her side, glancing down when she noticed the duct tape she used to keep it together was coming undone.

Nick faltered. "I, um, I just mean that for the sake of the case…"

Luckily, he was saved his trek into professional suicide as a deep male voice interrupted him. "Excuse me, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute…"

Sara felt her heart expand irrationally in her chest, and glanced up slowly as she, Grissom and Nick came to a halt on the edge of a brick courtyard, leading into the property's main garden.

There was something distinctly familiar about that low, gentle voice, and she stiffened when her brown eyes lifted to meet the source.

He was dressed in a white t-shirt and comfortable jeans torn at the knees, looking reasonably at ease in his surroundings, and was obviously one of the seven ranch hands.

His brown eyes, just as darkly intense as she remembered them, slowly trailed over the three of them, and fixed slowly on hers. She saw him swallow, and his gravely voice trailed off in uncertain recognition.

"Sunshine", he drawled slowly.

Beside her, Grissom came to an abrupt halt, and Nick's head swept a wide angle to stare at her in mute surprise.

Sara froze, unable to say anything.

Myles smiled with genuine pleasure. "Long time, no see."

000000000


	2. Chapter two

**Author's Notes: **I didn't mean to make it this long, I swear. The chapter just kind of ran away with itself. For those of you in doubt, this _is_ a GSR fic (though it really is Sara centred), though I must admit I'm falling a little in love with Myles.

I can't believe of all the names I could have chosen, Myles Davies – or Miles Davies- is actually a singer. I did not know that, so I hope it can be ignored.

_Gravedigger Resurrection:_ I can't believe we thought of the same idea! Even the nickname -cue Twilight Zone-esque music- I hope this fulfils your expectations. (And I doubt I could write it better, because I _love_ your stories!).

Thank you for all of the feedback so far. I was amazed by the response.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter two**

_San Francisco, California  
1988 _

"Where have you been?"

The rough, condescending voice of her foster father would have scared her once, had she not been so accustomed to the sound.

He was slumped low in his easychair, a position she was sure he hadn't moved from all day. He lowered the bottle of beer from his lips long enough to glare at her, like she was at fault for his inability to move or do anything constructive.

Sara drew in a calming sigh, glancing at Paul briefly as she hefted her weighty backpack against her shoulder. "The library. I was studying."

He scoffed, tilting his head back and taking a long mouthful from the bottle. "That's new."

She continued on her way to her room, ignoring his scorn. She dumped the books on her bed, glancing down at the mess of clothes scattered in haphazard piles on the blue carpet. She had been such a meticulous person before she was moved into the system. If she had stopped to think about it, it would have worried her by how much her sense of isolation was stripping her of her personality.

The truth was, what Myles had said to her the other night, or what she could remember of it, had disturbed her enough to make her sacrifice her whole afternoon in the library. She was surprised to find how much she enjoyed the quiet solace of the building, and decided it was one method of escape she hadn't considered before now.

Her room looked presentable to the untrained eye, but having lived in it for three weeks, Sara had already found several things definitely bordering on health inspection standards. The ceiling leaked whenever it rained, peeling the wallpaper where it met the floor, and concealing hidden mould and other bacteria. She was certain the carpet alone masked the stories of many defenceless children before her; stained with the suffering they had endured from their duration with the Foresters.

Sara pulled her curly hair back into a tight ponytail, making a space for herself on the bed and lying on her back. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable, but her slender frame had adapted to its discomfort, and she felt herself sliding off into weary sleep.

When her eyes craned open again later, it was to the sound of distorted voices bellowing through the thin walls, and the sound of shattering glass and china. The sound wasn't unfamiliar, but there was an increased hint of fury in it that made her bolt upright on the bed.

Her hand closed around the doorknob before she could consider the ramifications of her actions, and she slid out into the hall, footfalls soundless on the carpet against Paul's drunken string of obscenities.

Her hands were clammy against her jeans as she paused in the hall just beyond the living room, and Paul's shouts became more identifiable.

"You ungrateful little shit—you got any idea how much it costs to keep you around here?"

"When you take out the booze, I'm guessing not much", Ryan's familiar voice countered hatefully.

"I'll show you how to talk to me like that—"

The sound of flesh against bone was so unmistakable Sara emerged from her haven, bursting out into the living room with her heart pounding frantically in her chest.

Ryan wasn't alone. Myles was with him, and she had to momentarily question his loyalty when he had so vehemently warned her against him a few nights before.

They stood near the messy kitchen counter, and Ryan was toppled against it, bracing himself with one hand as he cradled his split lip with the other.

Paul's eyes were bloodshot and unsteady, but he was still clearly lucid enough to deliver a painful blow. Myles grabbed Ryan roughly by the arm as he made to move forward and return it, heaving angrily.

"Don't do it, man. Don't", he insisted, broad frame surprisingly adept at holding his friend in check.

Paul chuckled scornfully, empty beer bottle crashing loudly as he kicked it with his foot on the floor. "That's right, hold him back. He's not man enough to do anything about it anyway".

Ryan surged forward, and Myles threw him back again, slamming his body with such force his back hit the kitchen cabinets, rattling the doors.

"Stop it!" Sara found herself yelling, stalking further into the room.

Paul glanced back at her, laughing shortly. "Well, look who's decided to come out of their room! That's a first. Got something to add, Sara? Go ahead, do it".

"We're fine, Sara", Ryan muttered roughly, mopping up the steady dribble of blood on his chin with the back of his hand.

Paul scoffed humourlessly, striding back into the living room, and brushing roughly by Sara on his way. "Yeah. Got plenty of other kids who can take your place. I'm sure the group home'd be happy to have you back in there".

Sara knew the group home was akin to Juvy as far as Ryan was concerned, and he sagged against the counter, wordlessly admitting his defeat. Paul made a garbled sound of satisfaction as he strode down the hall, door reverberating loudly as he retreated into his bedroom.

Sara swallowed, glancing at her foster brother in concern as he ground his teeth, glaring after Paul's departing back with a murderous glint in his steely blue eyes.

It was an expression she suddenly recognised, and it filled her with a momentary burst of fear. She realised that it would be a good idea to heed Myles' warning, and that she really didn't know Ryan well enough at all.

Myles was the first to react, reaching for some paper towels beside the sink. "Here."

He handed them to Ryan, who snatched them mutely from his hands; muttering something under his breath as he stalked past both of them, screen door slamming as he disappeared into the night.

Sara didn't want to think about where he might be going.

She lifted her gaze reluctantly to Myles, who was staring after Ryan tiredly.

"They don't usually get that bad", she said quietly.

When he glanced at her, she continued hesitantly. "The fights, I mean. Paul never normally hits him."

He eyed her, strangely attentively. "You all right?"

She frowned, surprised someone had even thought to ask her that. "Yeah… I'm fine".

He nodded, expression distant, but grimly satisfied by her response. "Good. I'm glad… you're okay".

0000000

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
__Present Day_

There's had been a relationship of exhilarating highs and equally desolate lows; one of intense, mind-numbingly powerful physical longing and eventually, developing into one of deep, inner emotional reliance as well; a need that ran so deeply it left her struggling to recover her sense of self when they were over.

Myles stared at her, his hooded, intense brown eyes glimpsing deep into her soul. She blinked back at him helplessly, like a vulnerable child, unwittingly revealing this real self of hers, the one only he had the ability to draw out.

Her past and present violently collided as she was consumed by the sight of his handsome, older features, appraising her with silent appreciation, sliding into a gentle, gracious smile.

She felt herself momentarily slipping away from her surroundings, allowing the others to become mere shadows in the back of her consciousness; Nick, and Grissom, a man for whom her feelings were so undefinable and ill-fated.

She always knew where she was with Myles. She never had to second-guess his motives, and it was an assurance of her childhood innocence she briefly mourned for.

"Myles", she murmured softly, the name sliding between her lips like a reverent prayer.

She realised Grissom and Nick were staring at her, and straightened, forcing her thoughts to bring her back to the present.

He grinned, a motion that crinkled the lines around his eyes, accentuating the years lost between them. "Hello, Sunshine".

There was no mistaking the intimacy in the statement, and she would have blushed, had she not been so irretrievably focused on his eyes, the ones that had always read her so acutely.

Nick cleared his throat, not so subtly snapping her from her haze, and she could see the smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. She drew in deep breath, clenching her kit tightly, vowing to curtail his interest later. "Uh, this is Myles Davies. We know each other from… San Francisco."

"Nick Stokes", Nick offered politely, reaching forward to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you".

Grissom did so with much more dampened enthusiasm, accepting Myles' outstretched hand after a minor, noticeable pause.

"I'm a ranch hand here". He glanced at Nick. "I spoke to you earlier".

Nick nodded, leading Sara to believe he was filing away every comment he might have made for later reference. "You wanted to speak to us about something?"

"Uh, yeah…" His eyes flitted over Sara, and she knew he would be too distracted to make his statement while she was there.

"Why don't I, um, go help Catherine and Warrick finish up their processing?" Sara suggested quickly. "We can… catch up later".

Myles nodded, and she glanced back at Grissom and Nick briefly before continuing in the direction they had been headed, feeling her heart hammer painfully all the way.

She had reached the cool interior of the house before she realised Grissom had followed her, and she stopped in the middle of the impressively modern kitchen, glancing at him uncertainly.

If he had any personal prejudice against Myles, it didn't show on his face. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, lowering his kit to the floor at his feet.

"Nick's taking the statement", he said expressionlessly, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves as his eyes surveyed the room.

She marvelled at his inability to show any emotion, and wondered if Myles' appearance even affected him at all. Then she wondered why she cared. They were not, nor had ever been, in a relationship. She did not have to feel guilty about anything.

She opened her mouth to say something-- and Catherine strode into the room, with Warrick moving silently at her heels.

"We finished the bedroom", she announced, blue eyes moving between them indolently.

Grissom straightened, turning his attention to her with a firm business-like efficiency. "Did you find anything?"

She nodded, gesturing to several evidence bags in her kit. "Seems like our young Miss Hollander led quite a busy lifestyle. The ALS uncovered various contributions of semen on her sheets, and that doesn't even count the toys we found in the back of her closet". She chuckled humourlessly. "Very kinky stuff. Enough to make even me blush".

Sara wondered, dimly, why Catherine felt the need to validate her sexual experience every opportunity she got. It certainly wasn't going to earn Grissom's respect—something she was more than certain Catherine wanted back.

"Plus there was the stash of X tablets in her bathroom", Warrick added, depositing his kit near Catherine's.

Grissom lifted an eyebrow. "I wonder if her parents are aware of her extracurricular activities".

Catherine scoffed. "Please. I don't think the Senator or his wife even remember they have a child. This is classic crying out for attention kind of behaviour".

"Well, according to Nick, more than a few members of staff have seen her letting nighttime visitors into the house", Grissom said.

Warrick shrugged. "I get the feeling Senator Hollander isn't here even when he is here, if you know what I mean. His office has a conference camera hooked up to his computer system and about seven outside lines. The guy wouldn't notice if a burglar came in and ran off with the silverware".

"It's an election year", Catherine noted. "He wouldn't know the meaning of a holiday".

Warrick glanced around at the vast kitchen. The four of them were gathered in one corner, and Sara estimated the size of the room alone to be about as big as her apartment. "There's something that doesn't sit right with me in this house", he admitted slowly.

"Nothing's ever as simple as it seems", Catherine agreed quietly, offering him a brief glance, and Sara wondered if she and Grissom had ever appeared that obvious to the others.

"Brass is still talking to the parents", the blonde added, gazing over their shoulder as if realising someone was missing for the first time. "Where's Nick?"

Grissom glanced at Sara, and a fleeting flash of emotion passed behind his eyes. She frowned, considering its meaning.

"He's interviewing one of the ranch hands who thinks they might know something".

He didn't mention her association with him, and she was relieved. She didn't need Warrick and Catherine's added curiosity.

Catherine nodded, accepting his statement without noticing the look pass between them. "Okay. Warrick and I are going to head back to the lab and get this evidence processed. Do you think we can get Greg in on this? It looks like it's going to be a lot".

Grissom sighed, nodding slowly. "That should be fine. I'm sure he would have wrapped up his B & E by now".

"Great. We haven't processed the rest of the house yet."

Grissom nodded, accepting her subtle order without comment. Sara was well aware they were on shaky ground here. This was technically swing shift's case, and Catherine was the one in charge.

Warrick and Catherine left the room, and Grissom glanced at her slowly. "I think we should see what Brass has to say before we finish processing".

"Okay", she said quietly, following behind him as they entered the living room.

Like the rest of the house, it was pristine and white, and in meticulous order. It looked barely lived in. The sofa was cream leather, circular in shape and ultra modern. In the middle of the room was a large LCD screen, and the floor was swathed by an expensive Oriental rug, adding the only splash of colour to the room and looking out of place in its antiquity.

Senator Hollander and his wife were seated on the sofa, facing a twin set of floor to ceiling windows that spilled light into the room, and highlighted the tears glistening on Mrs. Hollander's face. She was young, Sara realised, in her early thirties at most, too young to be Veronique's mother. It was something Brass had obviously taken into account as well, and he sat stiffly opposite the couple, attempting to convey an expression of sympathy over his gruff features.

He glanced up when Sara and Grissom neared, nodding slightly and turning back to Veronique's parents. "Senator, Mrs. Hollander, this is Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle from the Crime Lab. They're going to be some of the investigators working on your daughter's case."

The Senator glanced up at them sharply, looking incensed with rage. "I want to know who was responsible for this."

"We're going to do everything we can, Senator", Grissom said calmly.

Brass nodded, rising to his feet. "Excuse us for a moment, please".

He led them into the corner of the room, and the only other sound was Mrs. Hollander's muffled sobbing.

"They're not giving much", Brass reported tiredly. "They don't know enough about their daughter's life to give us a list of enemies. She's been a student at NYU for three years, and she comes to Vegas with her parents about once a year. According to them, she doesn't see much of them then, either".

"Or they don't see much of her", Sara muttered.

Brass shrugged. "They showed me the death threats, which had been considered as a harmless political ploy until now. The Senator thinks she's just being targeted because she's his daughter. I bagged them".

He held forward the evidence bags, which Sara accepted mutely.

Brass continued. "Veronique's mother died when she was fifteen. Senator Hollander thinks she's been difficult ever since. He married his current wife about the time Veronique went off to college".

"Driving an ever bigger wedge between him and his daughter", Grissom mused.

Sara glanced over at the woman, who appeared genuinely distressed. She frowned slightly. "She seems pretty upset."

Brass shrugged. "Seems a little too forced, if you ask me. I've seen enough parents loose their kids to know when I'm seeing a show".

Sara frowned thoughtfully. "Well, if it is fake, I wonder what they're trying so hard to hide".

0000000

Sara wiped her hand absently across her brow as she loaded several evidence bags into the back of Grissom's Tahoe, feeling the sticky perspiration collecting at the nape of her slender neck.

"So. The men have got you doing manual labour now, huh?"

She glanced around, swallowing hoarsely when she realised Myles stood casually behind her, watching her work. She had almost allowed herself to forget about his presence, immersing herself in the mundane simplicity of her job.

She smiled dimly, lowering her gaze to number several bags with marker, masking the sudden flutter of nervousness that overcame her.

"I was wondering if I was going to see you again before I left".

He shrugged loosely, smiling with that easy, rare grin of his. "I've been around. I wanted to wait until your colleagues were gone. I didn't think you'd want us catching up with them looking over your shoulder".

She glanced at him, realising he had the same ability to understand her that he always had. She had often tried to minimise their relationship as some minor high school crush in her memory, but seeing him in front of her now, in the flesh, made her know it had been anything but.

"How are you?" she asked softly, keeping her gaze fixed on her hands as she worked.

She saw Myles shrug vaguely. "I'm fine. I always am."

He leant against the rear of the car beside her, making it impossible for her not to stop and look up at him. "How about you? I haven't seen you since you rode off to Harvard in a blaze of glory."

She felt a smile tug at her lips at the picture he painted. "I'm really good. I've made a life for myself here".

"I can see that", he agreed amiably. "So this is what little Sara Sidle grew up to be. An investigator. Solving crimes. I like it. It has some kind of poetry to it".

Sara glanced down again, depositing the last of the bags in the tray. "How long have you been in Las Vegas?"

Myles folded his arms. His strong, lean arms bristled with hidden strength, and she drew in a breath, wondering at this lingering attraction. Was it because they had always seemed so unfinished? Was it because… Grissom frustrated her so much, unrelenting in his determination to keep distance between them?

"About four months", he answered. "But if I'd known you were here, I would have looked you up a lot sooner".

"I'll bet", she answered, somewhat cynically, lowering the trunk of the car with a slam.

Myles lifted an eyebrow. "Sunshine… You know that was all for the best. There's no point rehashing the past".

Sara sometimes wondered if she lived in the past. She nodded, turning to him reluctantly. "I know. You're right".

Myles studied her, leaning away from the car thoughtfully. "So am I allowed to see you? Or is that against your supervisor's rules?"

He jerked his head behind pointedly them, and she glanced around, gaze fixing involuntarily on Grissom's steadily approaching figure.

She wondered how Myles had already worked out that Grissom was her supervisor—unless Nick had mentioned it. Maybe he was the one who was supposed to be the investigator.

"No, it's fine", she said. She retrieved a piece of paper from her pocket, scrawling out her address and phone number with such speed she hoped it was discernable.

Myles smiled, perhaps too knowingly, as Grissom drew to a halt beside them.

"Ready to go?" he asked smoothly, eyes shifting between them briefly.

Sara nodded quickly, gaze wavering uncertainly over Myles as she was filled with a sudden, newfound discomfort, wondering if she should introduce them again.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Grissom", Myles offered politely, nodding his acknowledgment and saving her the dilemma. He met her stare meaningfully, holding it for a moment longer than necessary. "Later, Sunshine".

He strode off towards the stables with a relaxed ease that she envied at that moment, and Sara swallowed, feeling drawn by the pull of Grissom's gaze. His expression was unreadable, and he met her eyes for a split second before they flickered away just as rapidly.

"Let's go".

She followed him into the car, wondering dimly if his terse response was out of jealousy, or because she was now unwittingly guilty of the very same crime Catherine had slighted him for.

00000000


	3. Chapter three

**Author's Note: **Big thanks to Elise and Marlou for their help with this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, I was struck with a serious case of writer's block and I've attempted to work through it here.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter three**

The desert was not the place for a city of two million people.

It was Sara's only thought as she stared out the side window, watching the heatwaves coil off the barren, yellow earth with menacing promise. She distantly wondered if she was one of those destined not to dwell within its city limits. She then considered if she even believed in something as undefinable and illogical as destiny.

Glancing at the man beside her, staring mutely at the road ahead, she decided that she definitely didn't.

The silence in the car was stifling, and Sara sighed. She had thought they were past that somewhat tumultuous stage in their relationship. Obviously they weren't.

The desert remained the same limitless stretch of oblivion from her tiny window into its infinite domain, like they were the only two in the centre of a vast, uninhabitable earth, and it was never-ending.

Grissom remained focused on the road ahead, seemingly lost in thought. She glanced at him, finding herself trying to read his thoughts, and failing miserably.

She sighed deeply, throwing caution to the wind. She had nothing to loose anyway.

"Did you get Myles' statement from Nick?"

His hands clenched unconsciously on the steering wheel as her voice drifted over him, and he took a moment to slowly nod his head. "He claims he saw Veronique in an argument with a man two night's ago. They were standing outside his car, and he hit her before speeding off. One of her nighttime callers, I'm sure". He pursed his lips, considering something briefly. "I'm… not sure if its wise I'm telling you this".

Sara concentrated on her fingers as they thrummed idly on the armrest.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

His expression was silently disgruntled, and he obviously didn't want to have to spell it out to her. "Because of your… relationship with him".

Sara glanced at him in the corner of her eye, gauging the difficulty with which he delivered that last statement, and attempting to keep her tone neutral. "Is that going to be a problem?"

Grissom kept his gaze firmly forward. "No".

For some reason, Sara felt the need to push the issue, and went on when caution demanded otherwise. "Because unless he's a suspect, I don't see why it would be." She eyed him pointedly. "_Is_ he a suspect?"

"No", he repeated slowly.

Satisfied, she turned her gaze back to the passing desert, admiring the intensity of the austere yellow through the protection of the tinted glass. "Okay then".

Silence encompassed the air between them again, and Grissom tapped his thumbs almost absently over the steering wheel. "So who is he?"

Sara felt an eyebrow quirk upwards, finding it difficult to imagine how much it would have cost Grissom to ask such a question. "We dated when I was in high school", she answered after a while, staring vaguely out the side window. "We broke up when I left for college".

He nodded, obviously sensing that there was much more significance to the relationship than that.

"Have you seen him since then?" he asked after a stretch of silence between them.

She licked her lips, keeping her gaze focused on the road ahead. "No", she said softly. "I haven't".

This time, when Grissom was silent, she was glad. She didn't think she could answer his questions, if they were merely to appease his own curiosity. After all, it wasn't as if he would care for any remotely personal reason. It was all about the case.

They passed a sign indicating their nearing proximity to Vegas, and she was focused so intently on the cool air circulating from the air conditioner that she missed his question the first time he asked it.

Blinking, she turned to him indolently. "I'm sorry, what?"

Grissom glanced at her, infinitely patient, and she knew that they had reverted to the standard comfort-zone of their relationship; he the teacher, she the student-- though professionally, they had passed that stage a long time ago. She knew it allowed him to feel more secure when he reminded himself he was her boss and he knew what was best for her, and she let him have that delusion. She didn't think Grissom was even aware that he did it.

"I said, do you have a theory on the case?" he repeated calmly. "You seemed to be pretty quiet back there".

She frowned slightly, though she was relieved to be back on safe territory. She managed to switch to a professional tone with an ease born from years of habit. "I thought you didn't like it when we spouted off theories without all the evidence?"

He shrugged, looking at something in his side mirror as he navigated a turn. "I'm feeling tolerant today. Besides, I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway. Enlighten me".

She resisted a smirk, wondering if he even realised how well he knew her.

She shouldn't have been flattered when he noticed her minor quirks; she really shouldn't. He was an investigator after all; he was trained to notice. But it always felt more personal when he commented on those things. The more minute detail, the more intimate his knowledge.

"Okay". She tapped the armrest absently, rising to the challenge. She fingered her sunglasses absently as she slid them off her head. "There's something up with their family that I don't like. These death threats, for example".

"What about them?"

"Well, if they were really a political manoeuvre from some rival, where's the set of demands? Once Veronique's dead, she has no use to their agenda, and it won't make the Senator drop out of his campaign. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense".

He nodded cautiously. "Okay. So what other suspects do we have?"

"I'm thinking Veronique has a lot of secrets, maybe some the Senator and his wife don't want making themselves known to the public eye. Maybe it was one of her lovers. Or maybe it was a family member".

Grissom lifted an eyebrow, looking grim. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves yet, Sara."

She shot him a look. "You just told me to tell you what I was thinking."

He offered her a small apologetic smile, and the softening in his eyes made her unsuspecting heart thunk in response. "Sorry".

She shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "I know this is going to be a political case, Grissom, and that's the last thing the lab wants-- but when have you ever cared about office politics?"

He shot her a pointed look. "I don't. If the evidence supports it, I'm willing to explore that theory. But until we have any, I'd prefer not to speculate on it. We don't need Ecklie to hear that we're considering the Senator, or his family".

She scoffed, concealing a scowl. If the lab always followed Ecklie, the victims would never receive any justice.

Grissom seemed to sense her mood, and glanced at her as they neared the outer limits of Vegas, passing several old warehouses in the industrial district. "I know it's frustrating, Sara. But if it weren't Conrad… well, it would just be somebody else, wouldn't it?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Like Catherine, you mean?"

He shot her a warning look, and she took that as her cue for silence. She knew he didn't want to discuss the latest conflict with Catherine, and she didn't particularly want to talk about it either. Catherine had done a lot of unethical things in the past she didn't agree with; she just didn't understand why he was giving her the cold shoulder this time.

Her thoughts switched to Myles again, and she almost unconsciously brushed her hand over her cell phone where it pressed against her side in her pocket. He would be calling soon, and this time she would have a chance to rehearse her reaction. The more his presence weighed on her mind, the more she realised how difficult things were going to be the next time she saw him. He had been everything to her once, but that was a different time, a different her. The Sara that was still young and relatively innocent, who knew only a fraction of the evils in the world.

The Sara before Grissom.

Almost as if he sensed what she was thinking, Grissom's gaze slid over to her briefly.

Neither of them said anything.

000000000

_San Francisco, California_

_1988_

Blood rivulets trickled down her arm where the belt had lashed into her flesh, and Sara swallowed back tears. She wouldn't cry. If she cried he would hear her, and he would be back.

She huddled into the warmth of her closet, inhaling the musty fragrance of coats long hung in the stifling heat of summer, squeezing her eyes shut. Silently, she began to recite a rhyme they had learnt in school that day, whispers barely brushing through her small, chapped lips.

"_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry; _

_Go to sleep my little baby._

_When you awake, you will have cake_

_And all the pretty little horses. _

_Black and bay, dapple and grey, _

_Coach and six-a little horses._

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry;_

Go to sleep my little baby 

_Way down yonder, down in the meadow, _

_There's a poor wee little lamby. _

_The bees and the butterflies peckin' out its eyes; _

_The poor wee thing cried for her mammy…"_

Sara woke up with a sharp intake of breath, as the haunting cacophony of her childhood came to an abrupt halt in her ears, and all sound rushed to a stop. She drew in deep, shallow breaths, running her hands shakily through her disarray of brown curls.

Almost unconsciously, her eyes drifted over to the crisp white letter sitting on the edge of her bedside table, illuminated in the silvery moonlight. Even from here, she could glimpse its neatly printed postmark, mocking her with its temptation.

Abruptly, she threw aside the covers, padding across the dusty carpet and snatching up the letter, crumpling it her palm as she strode down the narrow hall. Soft voices drifted from the kitchen, a sharp contrast to the normal steely undertone of the household, and Sara uncertainly slowed her step, pausing with her palm pressed to the wall.

"… Look, I just don't think it's going to work. If you have to do this, at least plan things out a little better—"

"I'm not going to wait, man. I've wasted too much time in this dump already. I don't care if you help me or not… This is the big one, Myles. I'm not letting this pass because you feel bad about it".

Sara frowned, struggling to decipher their voices more clearly. They softened to gravely whispers, and after a few minutes, she heard the screen door slam and the unmistakable revving of an engine as it came to life.

The bleak thirst from her dream made itself known again, and she licked her lips, slowly emerging from the shadowy hall. She stopped short on her trek to the kitchen, when she realised Myles still stood in the darkened room, hunched against the cupboards.

She swallowed, struggling to school her features into a look of surprise after she got over her initial fright.

"Myles?"

He glanced up, looking equally surprised to see her. "Hey, Sunshine", he drawled slowly, folding his arms as he leant against the kitchen counter. His soft brown eyes pierced into hers intently, and she wondered if he knew how long she had been there.

She shrugged off her unease, stuffing the letter subtly in her pocket as she looked away, continuing on her quest for water. "What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her back turned to him as she reached for a glass from the upper cupboard.

She heard him turn to watch her as his feet shuffled over the tiles. "Ryan. He needed some advice."

She sometimes wondered exactly what Ryan and Myles' previous relationship was. On the surface it appeared that they were good friends, almost brother-like in their behaviour and bond of trust, but she sensed a certain level of animosity fizzling under the surface.

"Where is he?"

Myles sounded tired, resigned. "I don't know."

Sara turned, cradling the cold glass of water between her slender fingers. She was aware of her rumpled appearance, and the fact that she was still in her unflattering, flannel pyjamas, and reminded herself that it was dark. "Is he in some kind of trouble, Myles?"

He narrowed his eyes at her slightly, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact. "What makes you think that?"

"You're not the only one who notices things around here", she responded sharply, dumping the remaining contents of the glass into the sink. She started to stalk past him, and he stopped her with a hand on her arm. His touch was gentle and warm, and she frowned at the sudden flutter in her stomach.

"Hey, look, it's nothing to worry about, I swear. You know what he's like." He glanced down at her, brow crinkling slightly as he released her arm. "What's up, anyway, Sunshine? Why are you up so late?"

Sara took a step away, wondering once again how he managed to remain so utterly perceptive. "Nothing. I couldn't sleep".

He tilted his head, a tinge of doubt behind his eyes. "Sure?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I um… yeah. I'm fine."

He continued to stare at her. She sighed heavily, sliding into a seat at the chipped wood grain table. "I just had a bad dream".

"What about?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. Did he get some kind of kick out of analysing her? "My mother", she said, more snappishly than she intended.

Myles lifted an eyebrow, sensing her sensitivity on the subject. "Is she the reason you're here?"

Sara looked away, unwillingly reliving the resonant echo of aches past. "One of them", she muttered. She didn't like to talk about her past. She had never confided in anybody about it. People had asked, once, when she was young and innocent and they wanted to be her friend. They didn't ask anymore.

There was something instantly trustworthy about Myles. She didn't know what it was, exactly. She hadn't known him long, and she didn't make it a habit to willingly trust other people. Yet she found it easier to talk to him than any of the other pseudo-siblings she had encountered in the past. She felt like he would understand.

Mutely, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the now crumpled envelope, sliding it across the rough table with reluctant listlessness.

Myles slowly left his perch against the counter, and casually dropped into the chair opposite her, belying his awareness of the situation and its gravity. He took in the prison postmark and official stamp with nary a reaction.

"She wants me to visit her", she responded, looking down.

Myles lifted an eyebrow in sympathy. "You feel like you have to?"

Again, she nodded. He shrugged. "You know, I want to give some helpful advice here, but I don't think I could even pretend to understand", he said thoughtfully. "I don't know what she did, but if you're thinking about it, I'm guessing it wasn't something she did to you. Don't go because you have to. Go if you want. It's your choice".

Sara pursed her lips, nodding slowly. He made it sound so simple. Maybe it was. Maybe she was making things more complicated than they had to be.

"Thanks", she said, slowly, surprised by how easy it had been to share with him.

He nodded kindly. "No problem".

00000000

_Las Vegas, Nevada_

_2005_

Sara felt eyes penetrating her inner solitude as she poured her third mug of coffee in the empty breakroom, and she slowly lifted her head.

Catherine glided through the doorway with a feigned ease, presenting a convincing front that she had not been staring. Sara stepped to the side as she too reached for the lukewarm coffee pot.

"How's your evidence cataloguing going?" she asked politely, feeling like she should break the silence.

Catherine glanced at her, flicking a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder as she poured herself a generous amount of the tepid liquid. "It's going. Can't say we have much to go on at this point. Mia's looking for DNA on some of Veronique's sex toys, and from the semen on the bed sheets. Did you give the death threats to Ronnie?"

Sara felt a distinct frown pull at her brow, and sipped her coffee in an attempt to hide her sudden annoyance, wincing at the bitter taste. It was such an obvious dig at her competence that Sara had difficulty restraining her notorious quick temper. "Yes. He's examining them now".

Catherine tilted an eyebrow. "Where's Grissom?"

"He's in the morgue with Nick attending Veronique's autopsy".

"And you?" the blonde asked pointedly, eyed flickering over her relaxed stance against the counter.

Sara drew in a calming breath, shifting abruptly to rinse her empty mug in the sink. "You know what, Catherine-- if you have something to say, why don't you just say it?"

Catherine lifted an eyebrow, surprised by the younger woman's frankness, before shrugging idly. "Okay. Nick told me you know one of the Hollander's employees".

Sara blinked, stopping the running water with more force than necessary, blistering her skin in the process. She maintained an appearance of outward composure, turning to regard Catherine. She knew if she blew up at the blonde again, Ecklie was sure to be right around the corner, eager to reprimand her for her misdemeanour. She wouldn't be getting a slap on the wrist a second time. Not even Grissom could protect her again.

"Is that relevant?" she managed at last, keeping her voice low and even.

Catherine pursed her lips. "Look, Sara, this is a political case, whether Grissom wants to acknowledge it or not. You have to admit, this has the potential to make things complicated…"

Sara rolled her eyes. She was saved from making a career-sacrificing blunder as her pager beeped shrilly into the charged silence.

She consulted the flat screen. '911- Print Lab'.

Frowning, she tucked it back against her jeans, glancing at Catherine briefly. "Jacqui has my results".

Catherine nodded mutely. "I'll come with you".

Sara sighed, starting down the blue-lit lab corridor, passing Greg and Warrick working intently in the layout room before reaching the print tech's domain.

Both women were surprised to find Jacqui not alone, but with Grissom standing behind her with his arms folded grimly.

"I thought you were in the autopsy?" Catherine asked, frowning slightly at his unexpected appearance.

The nightshift supervisor's expression didn't flicker. "I was."

"Find anything interesting?" Sara asked. Grissom's expression was filling her with an irrational sense of apprehension.

"Cause of death was blunt force trauma, like we thought. Doc sent her stomach content over to Tox, but its possible she was intoxicated at the time of her death".

One of Catherine's perfectly plucked eyebrows lifted impatiently. "So what's with the grim face, Gil?"

He indicated his head towards Jacqui, who looked uncomfortable to be caught in the middle of their seemingly permanent mutual cold front. Sighing, she cleared her throat. "I got a hit on some prints Warrick pulled off the victim's bed post."

Mutely, Catherine and Sara rounded the desk to see the results displayed on the computer monitor in front of her.

1 MATCH: MYLES DAVIES

Sara swallowed hoarsely, and Catherine pointedly coughed.

"Well", the blonde said darkly, gaze zeroing in on Sara. "That's certainly interesting".

000000000


	4. Chapter four

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter four**

Sara blinked at the monitor stupidly, and Grissom didn't want to feel as grimly satisfied as he did.

He didn't know Myles-- he had no real inkling as to the depth of her previous relationship with him-- and he wasn't willing to acknowledge that his feelings might run much deeper than the case.

Catherine folded her arms as she leant against Jaqcui's workstation, her features too, carefully emotionless. She too was feeling the overbearing strain of being a supervisor, compromising with evidence and people to satisfy the political side of their jobs, an aspect that continually intervened with the simplicity of delivering much-needed justice.

He read it her slumped posture and the weary lines that tugged at the corners of her once vibrant eyes. She had always insisted that she could do his job better than he could, but he could see that practice was always going to be different than theory.

In the midst of the uncomfortable silence that overtook the trio, Jacqui had slipped from the room, allowing them the privacy of her lab to discuss this latest complication.

He appreciated her discretion, and took the time to marvel at the loyalty of his staff.

Sara slowly lifted her head, meeting his gaze with some amount of difficulty. Despite her best efforts, her past always managed to haunt her, manifesting through her daily work. He knew, if he had suffered a childhood trauma like hers, he wouldn't be able to face the horrors they did. She was fifteen years younger than him, and sometimes he thought she knew more of life than he did.

"You should know that the semen Warrick found on the sheets also matches Myles' DNA", Grissom said quietly, breaking their silent standoff.

Catherine's expression twitched, and he knew she was having difficulty remaining quiet. He sometimes wondered at her hypocrisy. The only thing he could conclude was that her only concern was watching her own back, and he couldn't understand why it was a selfish trait that he hadn't noticed before. It was only after her promotion that it really started to manifest itself, and his ability to appreciate their contrasting personal qualities was waning considerably.

"He slept with her", Sara said, softly, at last. "Is that a crime?"

Grissom sighed tiredly. "It could be", he said quietly.

"He didn't mention having a personal relationship with the victim", Catherine spoke up, tapping her fingers against her forearms. "That means he has something to hide."

"He was sleeping with the boss's daughter", Sara countered irritably. "And she was just murdered. Wouldn't you hide that?"

"Okay", Grissom cut in, sensing some mounting hostility between the two women. They had always had a certain on/off relationship, but since Sara's suspension things had permanently shifted. He didn't really want to consider his own role in that. "We still have to look into it, despite the reasons behind it. Mia also uncovered several unidentified contributions, and any one of them could be a viable suspect."

"What about the story this Davies guy fed Nick?" Catherine pointed out. "Can we still buy that? We have no other witnesses to suggest this so-called visit even took place."

Grissom shrugged. "I don't know, Catherine".

Catherine frowned, eyes drifting back over the computer monitor. "Okay", she said slowly, eyes flickering between Grissom and Sara. "So if Myles came up on the system, what previous offences does he have on his name?"

Without waiting for either of them to respond, Catherine shifted the mouse over the screen and moved back again when a new page appeared.

"Juvenile petty theft. Oh, but here's an interesting one: Armed Robbery, 1988.

Grissom frowned, and Catherine eyed him sharply. "What?"

He didn't want to do this while she was in the room, but she was too perceptive not to pick up on his sudden unease. "When did you say you knew this guy, Sara?

She grit her jaw, and he could see she knew what he was thinking. "When I was seventeen."

Now Catherine lifted her brows. "Really? Weren't you… seventeen in 1988?"

Sara pursed her lips. "Are you asking if I knew him when he committed armed robbery? Because I'd say that's none of your business".

Grissom stared at her. "Sara—"

She abruptly moved around the desk, making hasty movements for the door. "I'm going to go check on the guys' progress."

Catherine slowly swivelled her head back on Grissom as Sara disappeared down the hall, chewing the inside of her lip grimly. "She's hiding something, Gil".

Grissom sighed heavily. "Maybe she's just protecting her past. She is right. It has no bearing on our case one way or the other."

"It brings her partiality into question", Catherine said pointedly.

He gave her a long look in return. "I find that a kind of an ironic statement, coming from you, Catherine".

She scowled. "Look, if you want to keep up this cold front with me, then that's fine. But maybe you should remember that this is my case, not yours".

"I'm sure you're going to remind me".

Catherine clenched her jaw angrily. He knew his reaction was childish, and he forced himself to meet her eyes. "All right, fine. As long as she doesn't handle any of his evidence, I don't see any reason why we should remove her from the case, especially after we clear him".

Catherine looked at him sternly. "If we clear him".

00000000

Sara pocketed her keys, feeling their heavy weight press into her side as she entered the stairwell to her building.

She ran a hand over her face, feeling the weariness of her double shift overtake her. The interior of her apartment building was dim without the luminosity of the early morning light, and her eyes took a moment to adjust.

She was on the second floor, and didn't feel the need to use the elevator. Her line of work made her paranoid about certain daily rituals, and after a case a few years ago in which the elevator cables snapped and the victim was propelled down several stories, that was definitely one of them.

Her steps slowed as she neared her door, and she recognised the lone figure leant casually against it.

She licked her lips, finding her voice. "Myles".

He looked up, and the diffused light was unable to hide the familiar glint of energy in his eyes. She had forgotten the mischief it was capable of.

She sighed, looking down as she retrieved her house key. "I thought you were going to call first".

Myles frowned slightly, and she could tell the sudden caginess in her tone caught him off-guard.

"Well, I heard you got off work about now, and I thought I would surprise you. Is something wrong, Sunshine?"

The childhood pet name made her pause with her hand on the handle, and she swallowed tightly before twisting it open. "I don't think it's such a good idea that I talk to you right now".

Myles blinked at her disbelievingly as she turned to face him, barring his way into her apartment. His tone took on a serious quality. "Sara… what are you talking about?"

She gave up trying to prevent his entrance, and strode into the living room, dropping her keys glibly onto the counter.

Myles followed her inside, taking in the warm, purple walls and black-rimmed photographs. Her home was warm and homely, but on closer inspection it was a mere superficial outer façade. It gave no insight into her personal life, and with one sweeping glance, Myles knew she was just as introverted as her seventeen year old self.

Sara pursed her lips, fingering the edge of the Formica counter as she faced Myles slowly.

"You lied to us."

Myles kept his expression carefully void, lifting an eyebrow mutely. "About what, exactly?"

"You slept with Veronique. Why didn't you mention that? Do you know how stupid that made me look in front of my co-workers?"

Myles clenched his jaw disbelievingly. "I can't believe this. Are we going to go back twenty years, Sara?"

"Don't make this about then, Myles", she said irritably.

"You're the one doing that. Look, until your guys asked about it, I wasn't going to mention bring it up. I know how incriminating it sounds".

"No, you really don't", Sara said blandly, slumping onto a stool with unhidden fatigue.

Myles sighed, looking down. "Please don't tell me you think I had something to do with what happened to her?"

Sara frowned, twisting up her delicate, pale features. "No. Of course I don't."

He nodded hesitantly. "Well, good." He strode slowly across the room, studying the muddle of books cluttered on her shelves and putting some distance between them.

Sara drew in a deep, steading breath, marvelling at the surrealism of Myles Davies, the very epitome of where she came from, standing in her apartment. He tilted his head as he took in the forensic titles on one particular shelf, suitably impressed. "You've come a long way, Sunshine, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah", she muttered softly, studying her shoes.

He nodded, sliding out a thick book pensively. "I always knew you would".

She glanced up, frown deepening rapidly when she saw the cover, but he had already opened it to see the inscription inside. She closed her eyes, releasing an unhappy sigh, as he turned to glance at her sharply.

"Grissom. Isn't that your boss?"

She hopped off the bar stool, striding across the room to snatch the entomology textbook abruptly from his fingertips. For some reason, she didn't like the idea of Myles interpreting her relationship – or lack-thereof - with Grissom. "Myles, I'm really not in the mood for this game. I don't want you to start analysing me."

"How else am I going to know anything about you?" he said, staring at her pointedly. "Are you going to tell me?"

"I would if you asked", she snapped, clutching the book unconsciously to her chest, narrowing her dark eyes at him.

Myles chuckled softly, eyes drifting over her defensive stance with vague fondness. "I bet that quick temper still gets you in a lot of trouble".

Sara sighed as she replaced the book on the shelf and strode back to her chair. "How are you doing this?" she asked tiredly.

He frowned. "Doing what?"

"Talking to me like nothing's changed. Making it seem like we're still those people back in San Francisco".

He smiled dimly. "Maybe I live in the past sometimes", he said softly. "Maybe I still have a few regrets about all of that".

She nodded, looking down at her hands as she clasped them over her knees. "Do you know what happened to Ryan?"

He perched on the edge of her leather armchair, shrugging slightly. "I haven't spoke to him in years. I think he had one too many run ins with your side of the law, ended up in the good old Cali jail".

"You make it sound like we're on different sides now".

He smiled sadly. "We might as well be, Sunshine".

Sara shook her head, studying him for a moment. "So… you're not married? No… kids or anything?"

He smirked at her blatant curiosity. "No. I never really went in for any of that stuff".

"Yeah. I know what you mean", she agreed vaguely.

Myles looked strangely saddened by this comment. "I always pictured you married by now", he admitted. "Some rich Harvard grad who swept you off your feet, showered you with riches, that sort of Hallmark happy-ever-after crap. I guess it was a nice fantasy, right?"

She was taken aback by his vision of her future. She always knew he had never thought himself good enough for her, but his willingness to sacrifice her for something so unbelievable was oddly idealistic of him.

"You know I… probably shouldn't see you after this. At least until… the case is over, or we can…"

"Prove that I'm innocent", Myles finished darkly. He rose to his feet, and she did the same, eyes crinkled uncertainly. "Don't worry about me", he reassured her gently. "I trust you with this."

She nodded mutely. He turned to go, and paused with his hand on the open doorframe. "You know, I know you probably don't want to hear this. But there's more to life than proving something to a ghost, Sunshine".

Before she could question him on exactly what that meant, he was gone, and she sagged against the counter wearily.

00000000

"What is this place?" Warrick asked, following Grissom and Brass as they strode into the building.

The detective glanced back at him, looking older than his years. "I'd call it a classy crack house, but that's just me".

"It's patrons are generally those who appear on the society pages", Grissom supplied, sliding off his sunglasses and taking in the softly lit room with a cocked eyebrow.

Warrick could see the entomologist was fascinated by yet another aspect of human nature that was not widely advertised, and he stifled an amused smirk. He had such a keen interest in the human race; yet Warrick wondered why Grissom was so reluctant to join them.

"Hello", a softly spoken voice greeted them fluently.

The three turned as a woman emerged from behind a beaded doorway, eyes drifting between them casually. Brass obviously wasn't in the mod for pleasantries, and lifted up his badge. Warrick knew why. The Mayor and the Sheriff were riding the department for an easy solve, and they wanted this case over with as quickly as possible. It certainly wasn't aiding their investigation.

Veronique's tox screen had confirmed that there were still traces of MDMA in her system at the time of her death. They were well aware that she was popular on the Las Vegas party circuit, and several of her acquaintances had led them to here.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, barely flicking an eyelid. Warrick had to admit he was impressed. He got the feeling this woman was used to dealing with the authorities.

"We're wondering if you can tell us anything about Veronqiue Hollander", Grissom spoke up. "We're told she was a regular visitor here".

The woman nodded. "When she was in town, yes. We're very discrete and there's little risk of attention from the media here. We're a popular attraction for visiting celebrities".

"Well, we were wondering if you could tell us the last time Miss. Hollander was here", Brass said curtly.

She lifted an eyebrow. "We don't exactly keep records. I'm sure you understand why".

"Right", Brass sighed. "Do you remember seeing her here?"

She slowly shook her head. "No. But it often gets busy, particularly around this time of year."

"Do you mind if we have a look around?" Warrick spoke up, flashing her one of his charming, easy smiles. "Ask if anyone might have seen her?"

"I don't think we need to remind you of the legal repercussions of having an establishment like this?" Brass added pointedly.

She cleared her throat, gesturing to the door she had just exited. "Please. Go right ahead."

"Thank you".

Warrick swept aside the delicate red beaded curtain, revealing a narrow hall leading into several curtained booth-like areas that reminded him of Opium rooms in the 1800s. He knew that the establishment didn't provide anything in possession there, and escaped certain liability that way, but he still allowed himself a moment to marvel at the corruption of Las Vegas.

Brass split from the two criminalists, and Warrick strode slowly down the richly carpeted hall. The place was considerably empty for the time of day, but there were several people lounging on large cushions and under curtained canopies.

Warrick glanced back at Grissom, pausing before a rough-cut guy leaning idly against the wall beside one of the booths.

"Hey, excuse me. You mind if we ask you a few questions?"

The guy's eyes darted over them, and he scowled irritably. "Hey, I ain't doin' nothin' illegal, okay? I'm just waiting for a friend of mine".

"Yeah, sure you are", Warrick said, somewhat impatiently. "Do you know Veronique Hollander?"

The guy blinked at them owlishly. "Know her? Course I do. Everyone knows her."

"When was the last time you saw her here?" Grissom spoke up, leaning casually against the opposite wall.

His face twitched. "What makes you think I come here all the time?"

They stared at him impatiently, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Okay. I saw her two nights ago. She was with some of her little cronies, probably on her way through to the casinos or somethin', coasting all the way".

Grissom frowned blankly, turning to Warrick for a translation. "High", he offered. "Do you know what she was using?"

He shrugged impatiently. "I don't know. Far as I can tell she's an All Star, man, you what I'm sayin'?"

Grissom's eyes returned to Warrick. "User of multiple drugs", the younger CSI supplied.

He nodded empathically. "Yeah. But she wasn't here long. She bounced pretty quick. So that's all I know, okay?"

"Yeah", Warrick said, nodding his head to indicate that he could leave.

After their informant hopped off, Warrick glanced at Grissom thoughtfully. "So she was here the night before she died. I wonder where she went after this?"

"I don't know", Grissom said thoughtfully. "But I think that if we know that, we might know who killed her".

Warrick pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was odd, to be working with Grissom again. He'd forgotten how much he really missed the graveshift supervisor's eccentric personality. Not that Catherine wasn't a good boss. Sure, on some level he missed having her as a co-worker and not having to worry about the professional boundaries between them. It was just that the strain was clearly getting to her. They could all see it, even if none of them said anything. She was short with all of them, and Warrick wasn't sure if Grissom was aware of it, but their latest argument had her hanging on by a thread. She was just very good at hiding it.

She relied on Grissom perhaps more than anyone, and to her, it was like he was suddenly abandoning her. Warrick really hoped they patched things up soon. Unfortunately, he could see the added tension with Sara was not working in Catherine's favour. For some unknown reason, Grissom was somewhat protective of Sara lately, and despite what they might have thought, the two of them weren't hiding it very well from the rest of them.

He glanced at Grissom as they returned to the mid-afternoon sunlight, waiting in the lot for Brass to return. He wondered if the entomologist would appreciate his intervention, if he said something on Catherine's behalf.

He sighed, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand as he stared distantly down the road, towards the nearby Strip, bustling even in day with activity. They were two adults and his superiors, and it wasn't his place. He just hoped they would work things out soon, because the rift between them was perhaps unwittingly causing a rift between the entire team.

And Ecklie's intention to break them all up was working better than he intended.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **I'd like to thank everyone for their kind feedback so far, I really appreciate it. Keep telling me what you think, please, because I feel like I'm getting disillusioned with this story and I need to know if people are still enjoying it.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter five**

"Hi".

Grissom lifted his head, cocking an eyebrow slightly as Sara's gentle cadence interrupted his thoughts. She paused in the doorway, striding hesitantly into his office.

"Hey," he replied slowly.

She drew in a breath, perhaps bracing herself for whatever awkward conversation was sure to follow, sitting in the chair opposite his. She looked nice that night. She usually did. Her brunette locks coiled in loose curls around her pretty features, and her beige blouse contrasted nicely with her pale skin. She wasn't a classic beauty, or as confidently striking as Catherine was, but there was an aura of subtle beauty about her that always had the ability to draw him in, fuelling his untapped inner desire.

It was a feeling he normally ignored.

Yet tonight, now he knew there was someone out there, someone who had once loved her, who had possessed the piece of her heart Grissom would never allow himself to own, it stirred something in him, and he drank in the sight of her with something akin to envy.

Sara thought she understood him, he knew that. She thought that he was genuinely ignorant to her advances, that he was aware of their lingering attraction but it didn't plague his every waking moment.

Even the way she was looking at him now he could see it, how she gently met his gaze as if she expected him to be intimidated by her very presence. He hated that she thought he didn't feel anything for her, that he wasn't aware that he led her on with his gentle overtones or measured glances. He knew exactly what he did to her and he was sorry for it. He was sorry that he couldn't let her go, that he self-sabotaged his own efforts to finally resist her.

"How did your lead go this afternoon?" she asked politely.

He knew that wasn't why she was there, but they always retreated behind the thick veneer of professionalism. They were always safer there.

He closed his folder, lowering his glasses over the bridge of his nose. Sara was studying him with a strange, distant expression on her face, and he wondered what she thinking. "Veronique was at Club Obscure with a few friends the night before she died. We haven't been able to get their names yet. Apparently she was quite a regular there. That's about all we know".

She nodded, looking down at his paperweight silently. "So those semen samples—"

"--Have no DNA for comparison yet", he finished glibly. He frowned, hating to go down this path, but knowing that he must. "Sara… I know you don't want your… friend to be guilty, but there is a possibility that the evidence will indicate that".

Her brow furrowed impatiently, frustration fraying at her edges. "What motive does he have, Grissom?"

"Well, he was sleeping with her", he reminded her quietly. "There might be a lot of things we don't know about him".

Sara slumped back in her chair, an unusual sign of defeat in his presence. She ran a hand wearily over her eyes, obviously functioning on very little sleep. "I am going to have to get a statement from him", he reminded her after a while.

She nodded, staring distantly at his desk again. "Yeah."

He found her reaction to this case puzzling. He knew she felt a personal affinity with victims of domestic abuse, and she campaigned for those cases with unwavering strength and passion. This time someone she knew was directly involved, and it seemed like she was unable to handle it. He wondered if he was witnessing Sara Sidle's walls crumbling for the final time.

Contemplative silence was not unusual between them, but it was usually after she left him with some unintentional comment about their quasi relationship. Sara still hadn't moved from her seat, and she slowly lifted her eyes to his, shifting upright in her chair. "Do you remember your first love, Grissom?"

Grissom blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. By her tone of voice, she could have been discussing something as mundane as the weather, but her earnest expression suggested otherwise. Discussing love with Sara was a volatile concept. He cleared his throat, unconsciously tapping his pen against his topmost folder as a show of nervousness. "I don't think anybody ever really forgets it".

She smiled slightly, but he got the feeling her thoughts were far away. "How old were you when you met her?"

Grissom sighed inwardly. This was a subject he hadn't even discussed with Catherine, in their better moments. "I just finished my last year of college", he answered reluctantly.

Her eyes slid languidly over his, as if she was just returning from her distant reverie. She frowned slightly, as if considering what he had just revealed to her. That Gil Grissom really could love somebody.

Her soft tone swept over him, belying the irritation behind her next words. "Then if you even think about telling me not to get so personally involved in this case, maybe you should think about her, and then understand what I'm feeling right now".

Slowly, she rose to her feet, moving towards the door to his office. "Unless you have any objections to it, Ronnie's going to brief me on the death threats in QD."

When he typically said nothing, she nodded briskly, and disappeared down the hall. He frowned, considering what she too, had just revealed to him about her relationship with Myles.

Perhaps more than he'd ever wanted to know. Now he couldn't merely brush him off as another minor threat, a face from her colourful, yet limitlessly mysterious past. He was her first love. And even Grissom, in his introverted cocoon of isolation and eternal bachelorhood, knew the constant mark that left on the soul.

00000000

_San Francisco, California  
__1988_

"Edith Wharton, huh?"

Sara's head snapped up, blinking stupidly in the mid-afternoon sunlight at the familiar hovering presence. "What?"

"The book you're reading? Edith Wharton?"

Sara glanced down again, attempting to refocus her fuzzy concentration on the page she had remained fixed on for the last fifteen minutes. It was a futile endeavour. "Oh. Yeah. Right".

Myles slumped down onto the lawn beside her, glancing up at the heavy trunk of the massive oak tree sprawled across half of the Forrester front yard. It was a favourite place of hers, to sit, to escape from the bleak reality of her limited world. "So. Did you visit her?"

Sara sighed, closing the book on her folded legs. English wasn't really her strong suit anyway. "Yeah. I saw her".

She wasn't quite sure if she regretted confiding in Myles or not. He hadn't advertised it, brandishing the childhood label she'd learned to live with long ago, but she's also learnt that knowledge equalled power. She wasn't sure if she should have given that to him so easily.

Myles nodded at her stilted response, obviously not attempting to pry. "How did it go?"

She shrugged, leaning back against the tree, ignoring the protruding roots as they dug into her thighs. He sounded genuinely concerned, but she had to ask herself why he cared so much. "Fine. She… just wanted to check up on me. See how I was doing here".

"What did you tell her?"

She scoffed, brushing off her worn jeans as she rose to her feet above him. "What do you think I told her?" she reiterated ironically. "I lied."

He nodded; remaining sprawled on the ground, arms supporting his weight as he leaned back casually. His eyes took on a serious quality, and she tilted her head at him cautiously.

"Listen. I came here to ask you if you were going out with Ryan tonight".

Sara shrugged. If she was perfectly honest with herself, the thought of loosing her despair in the bottom of a few bottles of beer was brightening up her otherwise lacklustre weekend.

Myles nodded, smiling humourlessly at her silence. "Yeah. I thought so".

She frowned. She was getting sick of his big brother routine. She certainly didn't need to rely on anyone, least of all someone she couldn't quite get a read on. "_You_ are, aren't you?" she snapped pointedly, snatching her other books brusquely from underneath the tree. "What the hell business is it of yours, exactly?"

"I'm just trying to look out for you".

"Well, as much as I _need_ your help, I've taken care of myself this long. I'm sure I can do it a little longer."

Myles sighed, looking down at the uneven patches of grass, furrowing his brow grimly. "There's nothing wrong with letting somebody help you, Sunshine".

Sara narrowed her eyes. Her self-preservation instincts were coming on strong. "Thanks, but I'm doing just fine on my own".

She stalked swiftly into the rundown house, a place she would never be able to refer to as home, irritated by his unexplainable hero-complex, and his constant attempts to drive a wedge between herself and Ryan. Ryan wasn't an ideal foster brother, but he protected her from Paul and his wife and that was an automatic code of honour in their way of life.

After a while, she heard a motor rev and the roar of Myles' car as he sped off down the street.

It wasn't until much later that she remembered Ryan was visiting someone halfway across town, and Myles had no other reason to come to their house… except to see her.

0000000

_Las Vegas, Nevada_  
_Present Day_

Horses moved swiftly across the barren field, graceful, limber feet carrying them across the earth with a freedom she briefly envied, resting her slender arms on the wooden posts, watching the beautiful creatures with indulgent fascination.

She took in the dusty, bleak desert atmosphere. It reminded her dimly of childhood visits at Sam's ranch, a memory now tainted with the knowledge of his true role in her life as absentee father.

Catherine sighed, flicking her blonde hair absently over her shoulder, glancing back as Warrick strode up to meet her.

His blue eyes hovered over hers briefly, his own movements graceful and measured, possessing a sort of raw sensuality she found secretly appealing.

"Senator Hollander refused to give his horses up to animal control", he announced, coming to a stop beside her. He turned his head, glancing out in the direction she had stared, cool counternance belying any effect their surroundings might have had on him. "They're in an enclosure over there. He said we can examine them on his property".

He was such a copy of Grissom sometimes it frightened her a little. She loved Grissom, even if their current cold spat was a particularly nasty one and her wounded pride was fragmenting their already fragile relationship, but Warrick was the other sole constant in her life. He was warm where Grissom was often seen as cold. He was empathetic like Sara and Nick without the extra baggage. He came from a background he wasn't proud of, like her, and worked past it to be the best that he could be.

"Well", she said in response, rolling her sleeves up irritably from the subversive heat. "That's just peachy. This investigation gets more complicated every minute".

"Don't I know it", he agreed quietly. They started walking down the narrow slope towards the distant enclosure, and Warrick unconsciously guided her path with one hand on her elbow.

His hand was warm and rough, and she allowed her eyes to drift down, and admire the difference between their textures.

"So, how are we going to go about this, exactly?"

They paused outside the small paddock, where the four animals involved in trampling Veronique Hollander's corpse grazed carelessly.

Warrick leant against the wooden posts, glancing at her to wait her opinion. He deferred to her supervision with a quiet respect that she appreciated. She felt like he understood how difficult the sudden transition was. She remembered the day Grissom left him in charge of nightshift with Nick and Sara, and decided perhaps he did know how it felt. Friends and colleagues one moment, boss and employee the next.

"Do you think maybe we need an animal handler or… something?"

He looked adorably dubious, and she climbed up onto the fence, sliding over to the other side with graceful ease. Her body wasn't as limber as it once was, but the familiar movements of the exotic dancer in her weren't far away.

"City boy", she teased, approaching one of the horses with confidence born from years of experience. "They won't do anything to hurt us, will you boy?" she said soothingly, allowing her hands to slowly travel over its velvety nose.

She felt Warrick's gaze on her, fascinated, as she lifted the front hoof of the magnificent animal, examining the shoe for any hints of trace evidence.

"Hey, can you get my kit in here, Warrick?" she asked humorously, feeling a smirk pull at the corner of her lips.

Warrick ducked through the fence, hefting her kit and depositing it at her side. He removed a pair of tweezers, handing them to her as she continued her inspection.

Their hands brushed briefly, and she shot him a smile, before bending to carefully retrieve a small shred of fabric. "Doesn't look like our girl's", she noted, holding it up for him to see as she released the horse's leg.

Warrick nodded, glancing at it thoughtfully. "Maybe our suspect got involved in a struggle".

"And then released the horses to hide the evidence", she agreed, shaking her head.

She checked the horses other shoes, then took several moments in her attempt to attract the next one, a beautiful white Arabian. Its soft coat glistened in the brilliant overhead sun. She could see the Senator had gone to great lengths to protect its vulnerable coat, and ran her hand over its side gently.

"So how do you know so much about horses?" Warrick asked idly, watching her as she examined this ones hooves too.

"Come on, Warrick", she said with a grin, feeling a foreign playfulness colour her actions. "I was the girliest of the girls. Pony club."

He laughed, a short, low sound that sent shivers down her spine. "How could I miss that one? Has Lindsey gone through that phase yet?"

She thought of Sam, and his tempts to win his granddaughter's loyalty through riding lessons and pretty gifts. "You might say that", she answered, smile disappearing as a quiet sigh escaped her lips.

Warrick nodded, obviously sensing he had stepped into some taboo territory. He cleared his throat. "So, what do you make of this Davies guy, anyway?" he said after a while, broaching a less uncomfortable topic. "The one from Sara's heyday?"

Catherine shrugged, patting the horse on the rump as she released it reluctantly. "I honestly don't know what to make of it, Warrick".

"Hmm. She's got a few secrets though, that girl", he mused vaguely; leaning back against the pine post as he labelled the evidence she had collected.

"We all have secrets", Catherine commented dryly. She sealed the evidence bag, returning to crouch over her kit as she placed it safely inside.

"Yeah", he agreed, lifting his eyebrows in silent acknowledgement. "Sara though… you have to admit… there's something up with her lately."

"Please", she replied impatiently. It was not within her ability to be sympathetic about Sara. "There's always something up with her".

She realised that they had finally reversed roles. Catherine had always been the one on Grissom's side, and Sara was now in that position. She wasn't quite sure how they had developed that sudden bond, but it bothered her, more than she was willing to admit.

"This guy, though, you said so yourself he has a criminal record", Warrick persisted quietly. She wondered why. He wasn't one for gossip, so she could only assume he was concerned for his friend. He had been perhaps the most adverse to Sara, when she first arrived on the scene. Nowadays, at least until recently, they were reasonably close. "You think she's got a bit of a wild past somewhere in there?"

Catherine grinned. She couldn't help it. "_Sara_?" she rejoined disbelievingly. "Miss. Straight and Narrow? I… don't think so, Warrick".

He shrugged loosely, but she could see he wasn't so convinced. "We've known her, what, five years now? How much do we really know about her? She's goes out for a beer with us, sure. She's close with Greg and Nick, so I don't know what she tells them, but I don't think we know her as well as we think we do."

She sighed, silently agreeing with his unexpected insight. He was right. Their extended family, or what was left of it, was even more distanced than when they started.

"Yeah", she murmured, and suddenly it hit her. She realised why Grissom was acting so strangely lately. She was generally very insightful on the behaviour of others, yet she was so involved with her own newfound difficulties, it had never even occurred to her. She had found it odd when he had suddenly defended Sara over her for her behaviour prior to her suspension, but she had never really thought about it properly until now.

He knew something they didn't. He knew something about Sara.

She paused, slowly rising from her crouch on the dusty ground. Grissom's best friend would have badgered him until she had exactly what it was he knew, and then guided him on how to address it-- but his colleague resisted taking any action. After all, it was none of her business, was it? So why did she suddenly feel like she had a huge burden on her shoulders?

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	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Okay, so I wasn't even planning on working on this for a while, but Marlou sent me a message that nudged me into gear again, so you should thank her for getting me moving.  
I am sorry it's been so very long between updates. I hope there are still people following this story. I'm not sure how good this chap is, but I promise, action is on the horizon.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter six**

"Okay, Ronnie. What have you got for me?"

The Questioned Documents lab was dimly lit, and the burly lab tech was hunched over his long desk, eyes furrowed intently on the paper in front of him. His ability to block out even the loudest sound was legendary, and considering his close proximity to the DNA lab over Greg's years as its reigning master, Sara thought he probably would have had a lot of practice.

"Sara", he acknowledged politely. He strode over to the large magnifying glass suspended over a portion of his desk, waving her to his side.

"Of the five death threats you gave me, I was able to dissociate them into two distinct piles. These three here", his gloved hand gestured over to his right, "Were all complied by the same person. The handwriting is identical. There is a distinct loop on both the y's and g's. However…" He paused for dramatic effect, pointing to the two on the other side of the desk. "These two are different. Take a look at the letter y on this one".

Sara bent closer, lifting an eyebrow when she saw what he meant. "The y doesn't have a loop".

He nodded. "And it's repeated several times. Dead giveaway."

"Okay", she said slowly. "So have you compared them to the samples of handwriting Nick collected from the Hollanders' employees?"

Ronnie gave a short nod. "Yep. No noticeable match. Most of them are very poor at English, and their writing is ill proportioned and the pen pressure is heavier than normal. There are also frequent pen lifts. Whoever wrote these death threats, however, has correct grammar and spelling. I'm no profiler but I'd say that both writers are fairly educated."

She pursed her lips. "What about the three American employees?"

He shrugged. "Their handwriting doesn't match".

She smiled grimly, uncertain exactly what this suggested for their case. "Okay. Thanks Ronnie".

"No problem. Oh, one more thing. The paper from all of the letters is from a high quality brand. I have to do more tests, but I think they're from the same stationary. It's possible the two writers were working together."

Sara lifted an eyebrow. "So we could be dealing with two killers."

"If these death threats have anything to do with your murder", he added.

She frowned, mulling over this as she strode out into the hall, brushing past the doorframe. She nearly ran into Nick in the hallway.

It was strange, how much she had taken his presence for granted in the past. Now the only time they occasionally crossed paths was in the interim between shift changes, or when their teams were forced to collaborate on a case.

She had to wonder if the faint undercurrent of rivalry on this particular case was all in her head, or if they were suddenly on competing ends of the spectrum.

"Hey, _Sunshine_", Nick drawled slowly, drawing to a wayward halt alongside the DNA lab.

Sara narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. "Don't start, Nicky", she said seriously, not in the mood for his playful jibes.

Nick lifted an eyebrow in surprise, walking along behind her as she continued towards the empty breakroom.

"Hey, come on now, Sar. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just joking around".

She turned on him as she reached the conference table, fingers closing over the top of a leather chair. "Really? So telling Catherine about it was just another joke, right?"

Nick shifted uncomfortably, staying on the other side of the table. She thought that was a very good idea. "Look, I didn't mean to invade your privacy. But Catherine is the lead on the case and she would have found out another way—"

She sighed, exuding weariness, and slumped into the chair, wilting back into the yielding leather. The clinical cool air from the ceiling unit swept over her in soothing motions, and she forced her tone to remain neutral. "I just don't need to know that everyone in the lab is talking about me, okay?"

He nodded, mutely, quietly taking the seat opposite her. She knew he was trying to take on the role of mediator between the feuding shifts, and she could admire him for it. He was trying to retain his professionalism by reporting to Catherine, at the same time he was struggling to preserve his old friendships with those of them left on graveyard. It was a messy position to be in, and one she didn't envy him for.

"So, uh, how did QD turn out?"

She shrugged, thankful he had switched the conversation to a simpler topic. "There were two different writers. They don't match any of the Hollanders' staff".

Nick crinkled his brow, looking mildly troubled. "You know, if they were genuine death threats… they probably would have been typed."

"That's what I was thinking", she admitted, heaving a discouraged sigh.

Nick folded his arms, nodding slowly. "Well… uh, Grissom and Greg headed back to the ranch about an hour ago. They were going to question… a few more people".

"Myles, you mean?" Sara surmised swiftly.

Nick lifted a shoulder, somewhat defeated in his attempt to soften the blow. "Um… yeah."

"The evidence will speak for him".

Nick chuckled lightly, relieved by her serene reaction. "You sound more and more like Grissom every day".

"I'll take that as a compliment".

Nick took in Sara's taut expression hesitantly. She was wound tight. This whole case had to be hard for her. "So… uh, how is he taking this whole thing, anyway?"

She stared at him blankly, prompting him for a further explanation. "Grissom", he supplied. "How's he handling this thing with Myles?"

She blinked, and he almost believed she didn't know what he was talking about. He sometimes thought she and Grissom must have believed the rest of them were stupid. They knew something was going on between them. Whatever it was… well, that was open to continual interpretation, but there was definitely something.

"Fine", she replied cautiously. "How else would he be handling it?"

He shot her a weary smirk, understanding that this was yet another area of her privacy she did not appreciate him speculating on. He offered her a shrug, tapping his arms absently on the armrests. "Never mind, Sara."

She gave him another long, hard look, and then dragged herself upright and left for the Layout Room.

0000000000

_San Francisco, California  
1988_

Smoke coiled slowly from the tip of the cigarette, dissolving in the cold night air. Sara breathed the scent in through her nose, observing the owner under the cover of darkness. Somehow the scent of second-hand tobacco always filled her with fond memories of her childhood. Those rare moments when her parents wouldn't fight, casually indulging in a brief smoke as they sat on the back porch, not talking, just sitting.

There were other smells too, the smells of alcohol and body sweat mingled in the closeness.

The staccato beat of the drums was loud, almost deafening, as it pulsed through her body, thrumming in her head.

Ryan had disappeared into the fringes of the crowd, explaining that he had to meet someone, and that he would be back shortly. She wasn't worried. In the anonymity of the crowd, she was safe. She was just another lost soul, seeking meaning in the dark.

"Hey, sugar".

She glanced around, solace interrupted by the low, steady drawl of an unknown man.

The club was full of the kind of people Ryan liked. The kind of people foster kids turned out to be. This guy was no different. Long hair, unshaved cheeks, grimy shirt. Dead, blue eyes-- eyes that went straight through her. She was another anonymous girl to him. It didn't matter who she was. And as far as she was concerned, it didn't matter who he was either.

She was tired of Myles' recriminations, and his unreadable signals, just as she was tired of existing at an immovable pace. She didn't know why he thought she was better than this, because she wasn't.

Which was why, ten minutes later, she was in the back of the cramped, stale corridor, pressed against a wall covered with mouldy band posters and advertisements. The small of her back ached from the cold cinderblock wall, but she ignored it, lost in the taste of beer, tobacco, and nothingness.

The guy broke back with a lecherous grin, sliding his hand roughly over the hem of her shirt. The heat of his touch was stifling, the heat around her was stifling, and she felt like she was burning from the inside out. She leant away from him as he leant forward to seize her mouth again, breathing heavily. "I think I need to go outside".

He gave her an irritable look, lifting the edge of her shirt as if she hadn't even spoken. "Don't start pretending you're a nice girl now".

She swallowed, realising in the pit of her stomach he was right. Nice girls didn't come to places like this. Nice girls were at home, with their nice little families, worrying about the make-up and hair and what date they had that night.

Nice girls hadn't seen the things she had seen.

Abruptly, she pushed away from him, sliding across the wall towards the exit sign along the hall. "I have to go".

She reached the doorhandle, feeling the blissful cool of night beckoning her, the fleeting tang of distant ocean promising her absolution, when his sweaty, iron grip wrenched back on her arm, pulling her back into her nightmare.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he snapped, dead eyes fixed on hers with newfound purpose.

Sara closed her eyes, suddenly overcome with self-disgust. "Please get away from me".

"Hey". He tugged her closer, and his breath on her face made her flinch. His grip around her wrist was so tight it cut into her flesh. "Don't even think about leaving".

"Hey!"

The voice, once so comforting to her, now only filled her with an even stronger sense of torment. She took advantage of his distraction to snatch free her hand, just as Myles appeared, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"She told you to get away from her, man".

He shot Myles a glare. "Get lost, asshole".

"I don't think so".

"I do think so", he snapped. "You know how old she is? She's not eighteen, that's for damn sure".

The thought had obviously crossed the guy's mind, but he hadn't thought it imminently threatening until now. He glanced at Sara, then at Myles, and scoffed humourlessly, heading back towards the inside of the club. "She's not worth it anyway".

Sara sagged against the wall at his departing back, closing her eyes again, this time tightly, as if she could make the universe disappear. Myles' hand on her arm forced her to face reality again.

She didn't know why he was here, or if he had followed her. She didn't want to think about it.

"We're going home", he said, flatly, tugging her for the door.

She allowed herself to be dragged, and it took her half the distance to his car to realise he had never let go of her hand.

00000000000

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
__2005_

The mingled smell of brass, leather, and horses was unmistakable as Grissom, Brass and Greg made their way along the wood enclosures, towards the large stable dominating the opposite end of the property.

In it, Myles perched on the edge of a crude wooden chair, horse tack spread across his lap as he worked on polishing it.

Brass shot Grissom a brief, speculative glance, before clearing his throat to announce their presence.

"Myles Davies? I'm Jim Brass with the LVPD, this is Greg Sanders and Gil Grissom with the crimelab".

Myles shot Grissom a brief glance, nodding quietly. "We've met".

Brass lifted an eyebrow offhandedly. "Yeah, well. We'd like to ask you a few more questions".

Myles didn't pause in his movements, surprisingly gentle and methodical for someone in such a stereotypical coarse line of work. "Sure. Go ahead".

"We'd like to know if you were in a physical relationship with Veronique Hollander".

The corner of Myles' mouth quirked humourlessly. "I'm sure you're asking that because you already know that we were".

"Are you aware that withholding information from the police violates several different laws?" Brass asked irritably.

Myles looked unaffected. "Yes. And I'm telling you now".

"Would you like to tell us how this came about?" Grissom spoke up.

Myles glanced at him, and the two men's eyes met. There was an unmistakable undercurrent of tension between them, and Grissom refused to be the one to look away first. He read the silent challenge in the other man's eyes, and met it head-on. He found it difficult to forget Sara's earlier words to him, and the obvious hold this man had over her heart.

Beside him, Greg studied the cluttered stable with silent, detached interest, and Brass held his notepad in front of him without making any notes, retaining everything of use to his practiced memory. If either of them sensed the strange atmosphere, there was no indication of it on their expressions.

At last, Myles released a weary sigh, breaking their silent standoff. "Veronique is… _was,_ very hard to say no too. When she set her sights on something, there was no way she wasn't going to have it. She was with a lot of men. Her parents didn't pay attention to her, so she got it in other places. I was just one of them".

"How long was this going on?"

Myles shrugged. "Veronique had her different flavours of the month. Or the week. We lasted about that long. She started seeing this new guy just before she… you know".

"Any idea who this guy was?" Brass asked, frowning the unusually brusque tone in Grissom's voice.

Myles furrowed his brow. "Um, Chuck, Charlie maybe? She met him on the party circuit."

"And was this the man you saw her with two nights before she died?"

Myles shook his head. "No. I have no idea who that was."

"Can you account for your whereabouts the night of Veronique's murder?" Grissom spoke up.

Myles met his gaze levelly. "I was in the ranch quarters with the rest of the guys. We get up at about 5:00am, so we were already asleep".

A shaky alibi, at best. Grissom pursed his lips grimly, wondering if he could invest the outcome of their case in Sara's gut instincts. She said Myles was innocent. For her sake, he sincerely hoped she was right.

"Would you mind if we took a look around?"

Myles shrugged, but he could see the idea made him slightly uncomfortable. He admitted he could sympathise with the feeling. Nobody liked having their privacy violated.

"Sure, yeah. Go ahead".

The ranch hands shared cramped quarters only a few yards from the stables, near the back of the Hollander estate. The floorboards creaked as Grissom and Greg moved through the cheap structure. Brass waited somewhere outside.

Myles stood by with apparent ease, crossing his arms casually and leaning against the doorframe as he watched them move about the room. Grissom took in a colourful array of cowboy boots lined along one wall, an obvious point of friendly rivalry among the men. There were seven beds lined haphazardly on each side of the walls, cheap steel structures that were obviously made for practicality over comfort.

Greg crouched over one bed, shining his maglite underneath, while Grissom paced the room slowly.

"You know, I'm curious about something, Mr. Grissom," Myles spoke suddenly, rough, indistinct Southern drawl interrupting the silence with intentional purpose.

Grissom lifted his head, meeting the younger man's eyes with vacant caution. "What would that be?"

Myles met his stare easily. "I'm wondering if its normal for bosses to give their employees gifts?"

Grissom looked at him blankly; suddenly wary about where he was going with this. Greg happened to also be in earshot, an added discomfort that caused his shoulders to be as tense as taut rope. "I beg your pardon?"

Myles lifted one shoulder, looking suddenly intent. "Sara has a textbook from you in her apartment."

The fact that he had been in Sara's apartment was a concept Grissom lingered on for far too long. Depositing his kit on the floor nearby, he carefully cleared his throat. "I don't see how that's any of your business".

Myles lifted an eyebrow slightly. "You're right. It's not. But people have been getting into my business lately, so privacy isn't really something I have a lot of respect for these days. I'm kind of interested to know. What exactly is your relationship with her?"

By this time, Grissom could see that Greg had straightened across the room, and was putting up a poor effort at pretending that he was not listening to their entire conversation.

"We have work to do", Grissom said abruptly. "So if you wouldn't mind…"

Myles smiled humourlessly. "Yeah. That's what I thought".

He turned and left, and Grissom refused to look at Greg, returning his attention to the room around him, as if it carried the most important of clues.

0000000000000


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **I'd like to thank _csipal_ and _mystery_ for their recommendations at YTDAW. Also, I just want to say that I appreciate the feedback from everyone so far. I'm very glad you're still with me.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter seven**

_  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
Present Day _

It was nearing the end of her second shift by the time Catherine returned to the lab. She spotted the shards of light under Grissom's door and spent several seconds arguing with herself before she strode forward and knocked.

"Hey", she offered in greeting, as he lifted his head from his desk. He looked as if she had interrupted him in the midst of deep thought and she gave him a moment to give her his full attention, closing the door behind her.

"Catherine", he replied, cautiously. She had known, if it came down to it, that she would be the one to have to rebuild their bridges. She might have been too proud, but he was too closed-off to attempt to approach her about their recent aloofness. And no matter what denial she might attempt to put across to the others, she knew it was her own fault that things had gone this way.

She cleared her throat, sliding into the chair opposite him, a position that had once been second nature to her in all of her visits to his inner sanctum. She perched uncomfortably on the edge of her chair, and Grissom blinked back at her, waiting for her to speak.

She decided subtlety was her best tactic. "How did your questioning go with Davies?"

He shrugged, sliding a ballpoint idly between his fingers. "We found nothing incriminating. He maintains his earlier statement that he knows nothing about Veronique's murder. He says that he didn't want us to know about their involvement because of how it looked, just like Sara said".

Catherine nodded, hesitantly, deciding to use his statement as encouragement to go on. "Right. About, um, that. Sara. I know this latest case… is personal for her—"

"If you're saying that her involvement is going to compromise our investigation—"

"No. I know we've already been through that and I trust your judgement".

He looked slightly sceptical at her last remark, and she felt hurt that he thought she had so little respect for him. They were on even ground now, but he had always stood by her when she made mistakes in the past. She wasn't going to forget something like that.

"It's not this investigation", she went on delicately. She was confident in her knowledge that he knew something he wasn't telling them. It drove her on. "This goes back before now. There's something… going on with her."

Grissom's expression remained blank. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes, clutching the edge of her armrests impatiently. "Yes, really. I don't think you're that clueless. Things haven't been right with her for a long time now. And I know that whatever personal stuff was going on between the two of you last year might have had something to do with it then… but it doesn't now. This is something else. I think you know what it is".

Grissom didn't waver. "If I did, it would have nothing to do with you".

She was taken aback by his cool reaction. "I'm just worried, Gil. We all are—"

"How can I not help wondering you're more worried about the _investigation_ than her? You haven't been mildly supportive of her since you've known each other. Who was it that wanted me to fire her earlier this year? You weren't particularly worried then. If you were, you would trust me to handle it the way I am handling it now."

Catherine blinked at him, surprised by the passion in his voice. "That's not true", she said softly.

Grissom stared back at her, and she realised she didn't know him anymore at all. They were best friends turned strangers, and she had never mourned for any relationship more. Her platonic friendship with him transcended any physical intimacy with other men. He was her avid supporter, her confidante and mentor. Her job meant nothing to her without him.

"Isn't it?" he said, quietly, and she read the implication behind the statement. Sara was the one true threat she had ever had to their relationship. Sara had the ability to steal his heart, and with it, all of his attention. She could admit to herself that was the reason she had reacted so strongly against Sara on her first arrival. But she had become one of them, part of their dysfunctional family unit, and Grissom was far too close to her to help her the way she needed it. Catherine understood Sara on the most fundamental level, because something in her knew they had suffered the same way. They both struggled to escape the hold of their pasts.

And if Grissom wouldn't give her his forgiveness, then maybe she could earn it another way.

"She's slipping, Grissom," she said quietly.

Grissom's gaze was focused on something over her shoulder, and she knew, he was no longer listening to her. "I have work to get on with, Catherine. So if you wouldn't mind…?"

Resigned by his dismissal, Catherine rose to her feet, smoothing out the creases in her slacks as she glanced down at him carefully. "I know that things aren't right between us, Gil. And I'll be the first to admit that it's probably my fault. But I'm offering you my help here. Maybe you should think about that before you shut me out again".

Grissom was still for a moment, taking in her final attempt at reconciliation. He didn't bother glancing up from his desk when he spoke again. "Close the door behind you, Catherine".

Catherine felt a hollow void open up in her chest, and blinked at him several more times before backing quietly away, and doing just as he said.

00000000000

Sara settled on the breakroom sofa, stirring her mug of coffee in one hand as she scanned the Hollander telephone records in the other. Nothing terribly groundbreaking stood out at her. The Senator had received two calls on his private line the night Veronique died; one from his secretary and one from his campaign manager. Veronique had received no calls, but that was of little surprise. She would have used her cell phone if she was out, which posed another new problem for them. It had not been recovered at the murder scene. Either the killer intentionally disposed of it, or it was missing somewhere on the Hollander ranch.

Sara barely glanced up as Catherine strode slowly into the room, pausing only to pour herself a mug of the Blue Hawaiian Sara had managed to acquire from Greg's hidden stash. "Hey Cath", she said carefully.

Catherine's head whipped up, and her eyes briefly flashed as they passed over Sara. "Sara", she said, slowly. "I didn't see you there".

Sara lifted an eyebrow, indicating the droplets of coffee Catherine had managed to splash on herself in her surprise. She wondered what she had done to deserve the blonde's strange behaviour this time. "I gathered".

Catherine glanced down at herself, face twisting tiredly as she wiped at her sweater. "Are those the telephone records?"

"Yeah. Don't get excited. There's nothing useable. How did it go at the ranch?"

"We recovered some fibres no doubt belonging to the killer. Warrick's in trace now, checking them out with Hodges. We think they might have released the horses to cover up their tracks. They did a pretty good job, too. Apart from these fibres, we have nothing to directly link to our killer. No murder weapon, no trace evidence on the body. We're hitting a dead end. The Sheriff is not going to be very happy."

Sara took in Catherine's haggard appearance, realising that she must be on the end of her second shift and going into her third. Some of the political pressure Grissom was so averse to was obviously making its presence known. As lead on the case, Catherine was probably being coerced to make a solve as soon as possible.

"Nick tells me the death threats are from two different sources."

"Yeah. They were also handwritten by two different people, which leads me to believe they're fakes".

"Which means?"

"Well, I'm starting to think they're irrelevant to our investigation. Someone trying to mess with Veronique. An old boyfriend maybe, or someone from her college."

Catherine nodded vaguely. "It makes sense. It sounds like she wasn't universally well-liked."

"Well, Veronique had several male admirers. If we wanted a suspect, I'd start with those she met on the party circuit."

Catherine looked thoughtful. "We haven't interviewed any of her friends yet. Her parents didn't know any of their names. Maybe we should go back to their house, find a day planner or address book?"

Sara nodded in agreement. It frustrated her to know that she wasn't allowed to handle anything more concrete on their case. She remembered being told as a rookie that even the smallest information could break a case open, and she had been able to appreciate her contribution. But now it just didn't feel like enough. Not when Myles' guilt or innocence hung in the balance.

Catherine, as if sensing her frustration, lifted an eyebrow. "I know you want to clear Myles. I understand. We all felt the same thing when Nick was implicated for Kristy Hopkins' murder. You feel like you have to do something yourself".

"Yeah", she muttered, gaze focusing on the documents in her lap.

"You can't always know someone, Sara", Catherine said seriously.

Sara blinked, glancing up at her. "He didn't do it".

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes".

"And what makes you think you can believe him? How long has it been since you've seen each other?"

Sara pressed her lips in a hard, firm line, refusing to answer the question. Catherine eyed her shrewdly. "He was your first, wasn't he? Your first love. You don't forget that".

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to say, but…"

"You have to remember that people don't stay the same way we left them. You were seventeen. You were still just a kid, Sara. And it sounds to me like Myles was involved in something deep, even back then".

Sara rose abruptly to her feet, clutching the papers to her chest. "I am not discussing this."

"Why not? Are you afraid I'm right?"

"I'm _afraid_ that you're going to disrupt your investigation by making me a character witness. I am not going to help you implicate him."

"But it's all right for us to use your word to prove his innocence?" Catherine prompted. Sara frowned at her. Catherine went on, lowering her voice. "You know, if it was anyone else, Grissom would have pulled them off the case by now."

Sara stared back at her, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Don't play stupid, Sara. You know exactly what it means. Grissom has a soft spot for you, and you exploit it."

Sara's mouth opened in surprise. "_I_ exploit…?" She scoffed, shaking her head slowly. "You know what-- forget it. I am not getting into this conversation with you." They were heading into very dangerous territory. She was not prepared to get into another argument with Catherine. Not when Ecklie could be lurking in the corridor.

"I'm trying to prove a point here, Sara".

Sara couldn't help herself. She glared at Catherine defiantly. All of her frustrations from the last couple of days were coming to the fore, and the situation with Catherine was only the very tip of the iceberg. "Are you sure you're not trying to justify yourself here? Grissom finally grew tired of your behaviour, and you're trying to find someone to blame. Guess I just came to mind, right?"

"No. I'm trying to help you because your personal problems are getting so out of control they're affecting everyone around you, including him."

"My _personal_ problems are none of your concern".

"Really? It sure seems like it to me."

"HEY!"

Their eyes darted to the door, each flinching at the sharp tone in Grissom's voice as he entered the room, Warrick trailing hesitantly behind him. Both men were staring at them, as if they had overheard more of their argument than they had wanted to.

Grissom frowned at them disbelievingly, eyes drawn first to Catherine, and then resting on Sara. "Unless you want another reprimand from Ecklie, both of you will stop this, _right_ now. I realise both of you have personal issues with each other, but this is _not_ the place."

Catherine pursed her lips, looking away from Sara, and the brunette folded her arms, avoiding Grissom's glare. The cold authority in his voice was unmistakable, and she knew they had crossed some unspoken of line.

Grissom glanced back at Warrick, an obvious indication that he should speak, and the other CSI nodded mutely before clearing his throat. "Uh, there's something you should know".

Both women turned their attention to the black CSI, who looked vaguely uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "The fibre that we found… matches the clothing of one of the Hollander employees that was collected the day of Veronique's murder."

He didn't need to say it, but Grissom spoke up anyway. He met Sara's gaze, holding it pointedly. "The Sheriff believes we have enough circumstantial evidence to hold our suspect.

"He just had Myles arrested for murder".

00000000000000

_San Francisco, California  
__1988_

"I'm fine. I don't need you to take care of me".

Even as she said the words, she stumbled in her stride, and Myles grabbed hold of her upper arm, steadying her as he led her from his car. "You really want to go back to your house and let Paul see you like this? Do you have any idea what he could do to you?"

"I can take care… of myself", she muttered through clenched teeth, feeling the bile rise vaguely in her throat.

"I'm sure you can. Just like you can walk in a straight line right now."

Myles' righteousness was vaguely irritating, and she allowed herself to be led inside his decrepit house before pulling away from him, resting her forehead against the plaster wall.

The perspiration was slick on her forehead, and she closed her eyes against the cool surface, willing the room to stop spinning.

She felt a gentle touch on her elbow, and Myles's voice was soft against her ear. "Do you want some water?"

She nodded, mutely, blinking against the sudden intensity of the lights as he led her into the living room. She slumped on his sofa, leaning her head back against the headrest to stop her nausea. She felt so ill she could barely move, let alone take in his living space and have the flurry of questions she had about him finally answered.

She had imagined being taken to his house hundreds of times since she met him, but never quite in this scenario. She realised, much to her displeasure, that she had developed some kind of idealistic crush on him, when he treated her like nothing more than a younger sister. He treated her like an equal, and she read more into it than she knew was there. Unlike most people his age, he made an effort to talk to her, and didn't belittle or taunt her about her past. He was nice to her because he felt sorry for her. That was all. And as much as she resented his pity, it was better than having nothing from him at all.

The next thing she knew, a tall, cold glass was pressed against her cheek, and she revelled in its comfort before reluctantly opening her eyes and accepting the offering.

Myles sat back on the cluttered coffee table, studying her silently. She sipped the water down, feeling self-conscious when she realised he was looking at her.

"What?" she snapped defensively.

"What were you doing back there, Sunshine?" he asked quietly.

His nickname for her was filled with such disappointment that she had to look away. "Trying to forget for a while", she muttered dispassionately.

He sighed heavily, linking his hands on his knees. She curled back on his dusty old sofa, knowing that this time her unsettled stomach had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system.

"You're so much better than that, you know", he said, seriously, looking tired. This time, in an effort to avoid his gaze, she glanced around his living room, taking in adjoined kitchen with its cluttered, dirty dishes and pots and pans. The sofa looked like it was on its last legs, and the solidary plant in the corner was badly in need of some nourishment. The crusty, peeling walls and messy, dusty furniture could have been from her own childhood home, and again she acknowledged the parallels between their pitiful lives.

"No, I'm not", she said softly, feeling tears tug loosely at her throat. She didn't think she could take it, knowing that he judged her. She wasn't proud of herself, of what she reduced herself to in order to forget.

Myles narrowed his eyes, sliding onto the floor so he was kneeling in front of her, forcing her to look up at him by tugging her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He looked irritated, with her, himself, or the world in general, she wasn't sure.

"Yes, you are", he persisted darkly. She swallowed, suddenly overcome by the intensity in his eyes, the dizziness in her head, and the ache pressing interminably in the base of her stomach. She couldn't understand why he was so intrigued by her, little Sara Sidle with no future, past or present, who was neither beautiful nor smart enough to pull herself out of this life.

Myles dark brown gaze held hers, eyes that brimmed with the same loss, the same heavy weight she herself was burdened with. Slowly, he traced the side of her face, and she resisted closing her eyes against the sensation, staring at him in confusion.

He, unlike her, had escaped from their world, even if it was merely a fleeting escape. She didn't understand why he had returned at all. She didn't understand why he was looking at her like he actually cared, like he actually wanted her.

His strong, warm frame brushed against her knees as he leant upward, and she could taste the lingering alcohol in her mouth even as he met her lips with his own. Unlike the anonymous man in the bar, he was soft and tender, tasting her lips in a sweet, chaste kiss unlike anything she had ever felt.

Since their first meeting, she had felt a common bond between them, but there was strength in their kiss she couldn't quite understand and she realised rather startlingly that she had completely misread Myles' feelings for her.

And for a moment, at least, she had found another way to forget.

00000000000

**Author's Note:** So, what are we thinking right now? Are you frightened? Because, you know, it occurs to me that Grissom and Sara have not actually had many scenes together in this fic. Weird, yeah? I promise, I really do, that I have some excellent scenes planned between them. You know, if they work like I want them to. If all goes to plan, the next chap will contain yobling and some actual GSR.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Special thanks to Ghibli (Marlou) for her recommendation at YTDAW (as you can see I make a note of these things, considering the length of time between chapters!). And of course, to everyone who reviewed. We've hit the 100 mark!

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter eight**

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
__2005_

Her office was empty, but that didn't come as much of a surprise to Warrick. He got the feeling it had become more of a burden to her than a safe haven. A reminder of her new, perhaps unwanted responsibilities instead of a symbol of her success.

After several minutes of attempting to imitate Catherine's way of thinking, he found himself ascending the cinderblock stairs to the roof, and shoving through the noisy door at their peak.

There, as he had expected, Catherine stood facing the very edge of the rooftop, blonde locks billowing freely around her face. Her back was turned to him, but he could read in the sudden tenseness of her frame that she had detected his approach, and he slowed his steps to a leisurely speed.

"You want to talk about it?"

He was aware that their relationship was strained now. Ecklie had succeeded in straining all of their relationships, when they had been such a close-knit family to begin with. Confiding in him for Catherine was no longer a confidence to an old friend, but a confidence to an employee. Their familiarity on this latest case had almost caused him to forget the permanent shift in their dynamic.

So as he expected her to, without turning her face to him, Catherine shook her head.

Warrick hesitated, feeling as if he were on the edge of something far more perilous than a rooftop. Slowly, he inched forward, coming to a halt a respectful distance from Catherine's side. She started vaguely out at the darkened horizon, as if she could somehow identify the indistinct locations among the limitless shimmer of lights.

"You know, I used to come up here when I was a rookie", she announced unexpectedly, unwilling to draw her eyes away from their current position. "I was the only woman in a field full of men and I was never going to show any of them weakness."

He smiled slightly, imaging a younger version of the woman he knew now. Yes, he could definitely see it.

"So whenever I couldn't handle a case – which was most of the time – I would come up here and puzzle it out. It was one way of coping, anyway. It gave me perspective on some difficult situations".

"Is it working now?"

She finally turned, staring at him with her haunted, glimmering green eyes before smiling humourlessly. "I had an argument with Grissom before," she said abruptly, immediately rolling her eyes at her choice of words. "Well, I wouldn't call it an argument, considering I did most of the talking and he just kind of sat there."

Warrick lifted an inscrutable eyebrow. That would certainly account for the added tension. "Sara?"

"Was part of it, yeah. But that wasn't really… I don't know what it was about".

He doubted that, but he held his tongue and let Catherine continue. The fact that she trusted him enough to speak called for his silence. "I… overreacted with Sara before. Hell, I more than overreacted. I'm not going to go back on what I said, but she didn't deserve to hear it like that. I…" She scoffed pitifully, looking upward as if the heavens could somehow offer her answers. "I don't know what I'm going to do about all of this, Warrick. I just seem to keep making everything worse."

Warrick frowned, gaze sliding over her in the dim lights. Tears glistened in her eyes, belying her earlier claim about weakness, and she furiously blinked them away.

"Sara's going through a hard time and it has Grissom distracted", Warrick said gently. "You know better than anyone that we just have to give those two their space when they're acting like this".

Catherine nodded, frowning slightly. "Yeah."

He pursed his lips awkwardly, inwardly sighing when she turned her attention back to the skyline, seamlessly joining with the dark, glittery city below. He didn't think his advice had comforted her at all, but he didn't know what else to say without crossing any invisible boundaries. For the first time, he thought he understood the tenuous balance Grissom and Sara were forced to endure every day in order to maintain their working relationship. He could pity his co-workers on a whole new level, and grimly contemplated the state of his own predicament. He didn't know what was going on with Catherine, but there had been a subtle shift in their usual playful chemistry months before their workplace changes. Catherine's promotion had put a damper on whatever might have developed, but now he couldn't help but wonder…

"You look like you're thinking hard, Warrick".

He blinked, realising that Catherine had managed to shift the focus of their conversation onto him. It was clever, and only came from someone who was well experienced at diverting personal scrutiny.

"I was just thinking about the case", he lied quietly.

Catherine studied him a moment further, shrugging when she obviously failed to decipher the true emotions fighting for release behind his deep blue eyes. "Do you think Davies did it?"

"I don't know", he admitted, frowning. "Even the evidence is circumstantial…"

"Well, unfortunately for Sara, I don't think it matters if he did it or not. The Sheriff wants a scapegoat, and Myles fits the profile. A criminal record, an illicit relationship with the victim, evidence open to interpretation… everything's there."

"Yeah. Except one thing", Warrick argued distastefully.

She glanced at him, looking weary beyond her years. "What's that?"

"Proof".

0000000000000000

Sara was halfway to the parking lot before Grissom even managed to react to her sudden flight path. The night air struck him with abrasive coldness, and he tucked up the collar of his shirt before quickening his pace after her, spotting a flash of brown hair as she weaved between two vehicles hindering the way to her dormant SUV.

"Sara", he called, resenting the way his tone sounded like a reprimand even as he halted abruptly behind her.

Sara stilled, hand resting against the polished rear of her car. She reluctantly turned, looking hopelessly torn as she allowed her eyes to dart over him. "I don't have time to—"

"Where are you going to go?" he interrupted flatly. "Myles had already been arrested—there's nothing you can do. We have no jurisdiction. We only go as far as collecting the evidence". He hated himself for the way he sounded so insensitive and callous. Someone she loved had been accused of murder, and he was reminding her that there was nothing she could do. She had had hope stolen from her for her entire life, and here he was, repeating the cycle.

"I know that", she snapped bluntly, frustration fraying at her edges, threatening to unwind her completely. "I can't just… You don't _understand_. I can't just let them do this to him".

"We always knew there were going to be political ramifications for this case—"

"Have you _ever_ cared about a case personally, Grissom?" she interrupted fiercely.

He paused, caught off-guard by the ferocity behind her remark.

"It's not part of our job to feel for the victims, or the suspects. You know what happens to people who do."

Sara scowled impatiently, glaring at him in the glow of overhead lights like he was a piece of evidence she couldn't quite understand. He knew an emotionally standoffish boss was not what she needed right then. It didn't stop him from acting like one.

"I _know_ that, Grissom. That's not the question I asked. I'm asking you, as a human being with emotions, not as a CSI, if you've _ever_ felt some kind of empathy for someone during a case".

He stared at her, met her directly in the eye, and lied. "No".

Sara saw through him with an ease that was frightening, clutching her car keys at her side with violent force. "It's nice to see that you can be honest with me".

"Sara…"

"You are a hypocrite, Grissom. Do you want me to make a list of the times I can remember that you have gotten personally involved? The Anderson baby. The Strip Strangler. _Lady Heather_". She glared at him pointedly. "Debbie Marlin".

He shifted uncomfortably at the evidence she piled against him; not to mention the pointed reference to his prior romantic entanglement, and to the woman who shared her face. "That was different".

"Why?" she rejoined swiftly, with an awareness that made him uneasy. "What made it different? I am not _stupid_, Grissom. Stop treating me like I am. And stop acting like your interest in this case is out of any sort of misplaced concern for me, because we both know it's not".

Abruptly, she turned towards her car, slamming the door as she climbed behind the driver's seat, and starting the engine. Grissom watched her, remaining motionless as she backed out of the lot, staring after her as her taillights disappeared in the distance. Only then could he really process what she had just said to him. Only then could he feel disappointment, not in her for finally acknowledging the reason for their newfound tension, but in him, for failing to respond.

00000000000000000

"I can't believe they even let us in here."

Warrick frowned, glancing at Catherine as she idly snapped on a pair of latex gloves, flicking the light switch with an air of practiced nonchalance.

"I can't believe you told them we're collecting evidence to solidify Davies' case."

She shrugged, having seemingly regaining some of her old energy now that she had found a way to help. "We might be. They just don't need to know that we came here to clear him, not put him away".

Warrick lifted an eyebrow at her straightforward assurance, watching as she sifted through a pile of papers on Veronique's desk. "So… When did we make the decision that Myles is innocent, and not guilty?"

Catherine paused, turning to glance at him carefully. "Sara did. I'm just following her lead here".

He smiled faintly, securing his own gloves, before turning to examine the other side of Veronique's massive, blue swathed bedroom. Catherine was making a conscious effort to regain Grissom's trust and mend her fences with Sara, and it reassured him immensely. Maybe there was still hope after all.

Veronique's bedroom, like the rest of the incredible ranch house, was twice the size of what would be considered a normal counterpart, with ceilings that stretched high above the walls, ensuring its added sensitivity to the surrounding desert climate. Posters of contemporary rock artists and punk bands littered the walls, and DVDs and books lined the shelves, as well as pictures of her many friends. Warrick frowned, fingering a frame briefly, taking in the unguarded, happy Veronique in a party setting. The picture her parents and employees painted did not match with the young girl he saw. They needed an accurate depiction if they were to understand their crime, and her friends were the ones who could provide it. They just needed to find out exactly who they were, first.

He allowed his eyes to drift over to Catherine, crouched over a scattered pile of books on the floor. She had recovered from her minor breakdown earlier that night, but an added vulnerability had replaced her usual confidant demeanour. He understood that Grissom felt a more pressing responsibility towards Sara, considering that she still worked for him, and Catherine didn't. However Warrick thought years of friendship should count for something, but apparently, they didn't.

He felt a loyalty towards Catherine, not only because she was his boss, but also because they had a lasting friendship and he understood that things in her life hadn't been easy. Grissom had the same awareness, and yet he refused to see how he was hurting her. Sometimes, he wished that Grissom would make an effort to understand his people, and be the mentor he knew they all thought him as.

He sighed, sliding his index finger over the books on the shelves, noting the diversity in their titles. "What did Veronique actually major in?"

Catherine flipped open the cover of one title, furrowing her brow slightly. "Politics, I think".

Warrick lifted an eyebrow. Apparently she had felt some affinity with her father, if she was willing to follow in his footsteps. He wondered what had changed. "I guess he had her foot in the door, with that one".

"Mmm." She straightened, brushing off her slacks. "Apparently she was a pretty smart girl. Her father told Brass she excelled in all of her classes".

"Hey", he said, glimpsing a black leather bound diary peering out from the edge of the bookcase. He slid it out, quickly thumbing through its contents. "Bingo".

"Day planner?"

"Yeah. There's some phone numbers in here too. We can get Brass to send some uniforms to check them out".

"What does it say the night before she died?"

He frowned, skimming through the last week until he found the correct day. "10:00am- Adonto's. 12:30pm- L at Tangiers. Mt. Claire and Richie. 9:00pm- Meet Ronnie at WP. Bring $$".

Catherine furrowed her brow. "Girl code. Great. Too bad we can't show it to Sara. She's usually pretty good at this stuff".

"Okay, well, she obviously had lunch at the Tangiers. Adonto's…"

"--Is a hair and nail place in Henderson," Catherine finished. He gave her a look, and she blinked back at him coyly. "What? I still find the time to pamper myself occasionally".

He chuckled lightly, flipping over the page. "WP? What's that?"

"I don't know, but she was scheduled to be there about an hour after she was seen at that society club. Didn't the witness there say she was on something when he saw her?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe she was getting ready to make another deal. And maybe 'Ronnie' was her dealer".

Warrick pursed his lips with a grim sort of purpose. They had a lead. They just didn't know if it was the right one yet.

"Maybe… he was her killer".

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Sara didn't know where she was going, but she regained her senses enough to acknowledge the irrationality in her actions and pulled over, kicking up a haze of dirt under her tyres.

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel as the engine shuddered to a halt, unbuckling her seatbelt and listening dully to the click as it snapped back into place. She couldn't believe what she had just said to Grissom. After everything he had done, to support her and protect her job, she had thrown his kindness back in his face.

Myles did this to her. She thought it was love that made her irrational the first time around, but now, she knew better. She had no doubt that he was innocent, but that didn't mean he was safe to be around. He attracted trouble with more ease than a prize stallion ploughing its way through the Kentucky Derby, and now, he was dragging her along for the ride.

She had loved him, with all the gentle ease of her seventeen-year-old heart. He had saved her from herself, and now, she had to return the favour.

She couldn't go to the police station. Grissom was right about that. As a CSI she had no reason to be there, and as a civilian, even less. She could only hope that they would release him on bail, and they could clear his name by bombarding the defence with evidence.

As if on cue, her cell phone trilled in the darkness, and she took several moments to right herself and fumble across the passenger seat to find it.

"Sidle".

"Sunshine. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

She closed her eyes, feeling tears well in her throat. "Yours too", she rasped, but she thought that might be a lie.

"You might have heard I've got myself in a tight spot".

"I heard", she answered, and her voice was tired.

"They said they could let me out on bail… I can pay you back, Sara. I have money hidden away".

"I'll be there in twenty minutes".

There was a long pause, and she heard the faint bustling sounds of the police department. Sounds she was once used to, sounds she had been part of. A well-oiled machine delivering justice to the city of Las Vegas. Now she was on the other side, and they were a foreign, enemy force. She was seventeen again, a poor, insignificant foster child with no hopes, ambitions, or future.

"Thanks, Sara".

She knew he was serious, when he used her first name. She knew he was sorry. It didn't make her feel any better. "Sure. I'll see you soon". She clicked her phone closed and dropped it on the upholstery, barely looking as she heard it thud and slide onto the floor.

She needed help. Badly. And she had just turned her back on the one person she would normally go to.

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_San Francisco, California  
__1988_

The carpet was coarse, and irritated the sensitive skin of her cheek. She blinked, feeling the throbbing in the base of her skull almost immediately, and the foul taste in her throat. She wanted to vomit, and rolled on her back, breathing in until the feeling of nausea passed.

She felt strangely secure in her surroundings, and it took her a moment to remember why. Warmth circled her arm, and she glanced down, seeing Myles' fingers tangled with her own. He was half upright against the sofa, head lolling on his side, weary features encumbered by slumber.

Sara blinked, watching the silent flicker of his eyelashes for a moment, straightening to a sitting position. They had kissed. There was… something, after all. He had stayed with her all night, even when she passed out on his floor.

Carefully, she extracted her fingers from his grasp, savouring their roughness. She realised that she didn't even know what he did, where he worked. She thought he might use his hands. They were the hands of a labourer, hands that knew hardships and pain, and persevered.

She winced as she rose to her feet, taking in the shards of sunlight playing over the cream carpet and illuminating her feet. She couldn't leave him after this, but she didn't know what she would say to him. Awkwardness was sure to follow. After all, in the light of day, would his choice really look so appealing? Would he regret what he had told her?

Cradling her arms mournfully by her sides, she noiselessly crossed the room, careful not to make a sound that would wake him. She was halfway to the door when it flew open, and Ryan appeared, looking mightily dishevelled.

"Myles, we have to—"

He stopped short at the sight of her, and she could quite easily imagine what she must have looked like. His eyes darted slowly over her shoulder, and she felt Myles shift to his feet behind her.

"Screwing my sister, Myles?"

"She's not your sister", Myles answered bluntly, taking several steps forward until he was beside her.

Ryan lifted an eyebrow, and Sara thought she detected an odd assortment of emotions rippling behind his exterior. He wasn't jealous, but he looked possessive. She thought she was finally catching a minute glimpse of the true relationship between Myles and Ryan. They weren't friends, and animosity lingered not far beneath their affable surface. Myles owed Ryan something, of that she was sure. Ryan, meanwhile, wanted Myles to have nothing that he perceived belonged to him. Including her.

"We have to talk", Ryan said abruptly, and there was no request in the statement. Myles glanced at Sara, his regret palphable. She smiled reassuringly, and for a moment she was tempted, his soothing, warm brown eyes begging her not to go.

Their sway was not enough to win her over, and she took a small, firm step back, wanting nothing more than to leave the room, and escape their strange dynamic.

"I have to go anyway."

Myles opened his mouth, and for the first time since she knew him, he looked troubled, caught, and unable to control what went on around him with his smooth words or eloquent charm.

She realised they really were two of a kind.

Offering him another, small smile, she backed away, and left him behind. She wanted to stay, and she knew he wanted her to stay too. But what she wanted and what she got were always two very different things.

It was the first of many lessons she would learn, in her relationship with Myles.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **I owe you all one big giant apology. I'm incredibly sorry it took so long to get this latest chapter out. My inspiration on this story has been severely lacking. I hope you're still with me.

**An Exercise in Futility: Chapter nine**

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
__2005_

The silence in the car carried an undercurrent of unspoken tension. Their time together was rarely marred by quiet, but for once, Sara was not going to be the one to give in first. She concentrated on the road ahead, flexing her hands on the steering wheel, counting the neon lights that advertised something potentially criminal as they passed. She was on twenty-five.

"Are we gonna talk about this?" Myles asked quietly.

She turned at the convenience store that started the familiar route to her apartment, keeping her features void of expression.

"I hope you're okay with the couch because I don't have a guest room. You can stay until this is sorted out".

The silence that met her response was edged with frustration, and Myles shifted in his seat.

"That's not what I meant".

"I don't have anything else to talk about."

He sighed. "Don't do this, Sara. I know you're sticking your neck out for me here. Your boss probably won't like me staying with you, let alone you bailing me out."

"I've already been removed from most of the case. It doesn't matter".

Her apartment complex appeared in the distance, and her inner tension subsided slightly. Myles continued to stare at her doubtfully. "Is it the money? I told you already that I can pay you back—"

"It's not the money", she snapped, jerking the car to an abrupt halt in her regular parking space. Most of her neighbours were already in, but it was still reasonably early in the night for her. She climbed out without waiting for Myles, slinging her bag over her shoulder and slamming the door roughly behind her.

Myles strode rapidly behind her as she started for the entrance, quickening his pace in an effort to meet her. "Sara, will you wait a second, please?"

She continued swiftly through the entrance hall, passing the bank of letterboxes for the stairs that led to her third story apartment.

Myles footsteps echoed dully as he swung around the railing, catching up behind her. "I already apologised. What do you want from me?"

She didn't turn around. "I don't want anything, okay? I'm tired, and it's been a really long day. Right now I just want to get some sleep".

"Look, I'm sorry that I'm dragging you into this. This isn't your fight…"

Sara finally turned, her hand hovering millimetres from the door to the third floor. Her shoulders visibly tightened. "You're _making_ it my fight, Myles".

He blinked; surprised he had managed to evoke a reaction from her. He recovered quickly however, folding his arms and leaning back against the railing.

"You're angry with me".

She closed her eyes, ducking her head and allowing her hair to form a curtain over her face. "Yes, I'm… How did you get yourself in this situation again, Myles? I thought you would know better. This is serious and you're acting like it's nothing".

"Maybe I trust myself. _I_ know I didn't do it, but you don't seem to be getting the hint".

Sara frowned, tilting her chin defiantly. "I never said that".

"You're thinking it, though. I can see the doubt. You really think I could do something like this? I'm not proud of my past, Sara, but this is a little different. I'm not a murderer."

"You slept with your boss", she snapped.

He offered her a weary, humourless smile. "That doesn't seem to be far from your thoughts.

She opened her mouth in shock. "_Excuse_ me?"

Myles rolled his eyes. "Please. You think I don't see what's going on here? Nobody has a relationship with their supervisor like you do. If they do, they're either sleeping with him or planning on it".

Sara felt hot fierce indignation boil up in her chest, despite the fact that she knew Myles had hit a little too close to home. His analysis of her motives had never been more accurate, and never less welcome. "Since when are we talking about me?" she hissed briskly.

He merely smiled, a little too knowingly. "You still like to punish yourself, don't you, Sunshine?"

She folded her arms in a defensive gesture, aware that their voices were starting to echo throughout the empty stairwell. "What are you talking about?"

"You think you need to be miserable forever, don't you? You can't allow yourself to be happy. You go after the unattainable because there's no disappointment there."

She visibly flinched, startled by the harsh accuracy in his observation. She still felt an insistent need to deny it. "That's not true".

"You're thirty-four, Sara, and you're still not married. No kids, nothing. You except me to believe I'm disrupting your perfect life when I don't see anything here".

"I suppose I have you to thank for that".

She felt her heart stop, and she realised that she had really just said that. That _thing_ that had been looming between them for the past few days. The unspoken.

Myles looked incredibly saddened, and reached into his pockets, looking down at the ground. A wad of gum was stuck to the concrete near his feet, bearing hundreds of prior footprints. Silence fell between them for far too long.

"Don't do this, Sunshine", he said quietly. His voice was low and rough, shattering the newfound peace between them.

Sara scoffed humourlessly, looking away from him. "Don't do what? If you're going to analyse my relationships, we might as well start with us. If I'm so emotionally stunted, I guess I can thank you for leaving me that way".

"That wasn't… You know that was for the best. We had an agreement".

"Really? It didn't feel like it to me. It felt like you chose for me and I had to go along with it because there was nothing else for me anyway".

"Do you really think you would have this career if you had stayed with me, Sara? Look at me! Is this the kind of life you want?"

She pursed her lips, remaining silent, looking over the landing where the stairs jumbled on their descent to the ground.

"I'm tired", she repeated, straightening from the door, turning to allow herself onto her floor.

Myles said nothing behind her, and she heard him shuffle forward and follow her quietly through the door.

The rounded the corner, and both of them came to an abrupt halt.

Grissom was waiting at the front of her apartment. He lifted an eyebrow when he saw them, but other than that, he didn't exhibit any surprise, and she guessed he had already been notified of Myles' release.

Sara felt a shiver run through her, and drew in a shaky breath, already feeling far too vulnerable to engage in another emotional confrontation.

"Grissom", she murmured, inching forward uncertainly. "What are you… doing here?"

He had only been to her apartment once in recent memory, and that had been following her unprecedented suspension. After she had spoken to him the way she had, she honestly hadn't expected to have any interaction with him for a few days. His usual method of responding to her emotional attacks was simple—freeze her out. Apparently, he had rejected that technique in favour of making amends, and it only made her feel worse than she already did.

"I came to apologise, actually", he answered, straightening from her doorstep. His eyes briefly scanned Myles, and Sara became very aware of his presence behind her. "I wasn't honest with you".

She swallowed, finding the whole past hour strangely surreal. An angry altercation with the man she considered her first love was one thing, but an apology from Grissom had her firmly convinced she was hallucinating.

"Oh", she managed.

Myles cleared his throat, folding his arms tightly. "As touching as this is, I've been sitting in a cold prison cell for the past three hours. I think I'd like to get some rest".

Sara clenched her jaw, amazed that he could revert to such a sign of possessiveness after the conversation they had just had on the stairs. Mutely, she reached into her bag and retrieved her keys, shoving them in the lock. She opened the door, shooting him a dark look, which he returned levelly before disappearing in her apartment.

She felt like she was seventeen again, in every aspect.

"Is everything okay?" Grissom asked quietly.

Sara turned to him, blinking as the light flashed on in her apartment. She wondered if she would prefer having this conversation in the safety of her own domain, and decided the neutrality of the hall was much more desirable. Myles' presence in the background would not make this any easier.

"I should really be the one to apologise, Grissom. I was out of line and I…"

He lifted a hand to silence her, shaking his head. "You were right. In what you said. I just wanted you to know that".

She nodded, glancing down. His honesty was startling. It was what she had always wanted from him, and she had never felt quite this awkward in her life.

"So. He's staying".

It wasn't a question. She wondered if she detected a hint of jealousy in his voice, or if her exhaustion was inventing what she wanted to hear. At last, she nodded wearily. "Yeah. You can remove me completely from the case. I understand that this is a conflict of interest".

He sighed. "Sara, are you sure you want to do this?"

She fixed him with a level stare, the first time she had allowed their eyes to connect since his arrival. His blue eyes sparkled with something resembling compassion, and she felt immeasurably more reassured than she had before.

She decided to return the favour, and be completely straightforward with him. "There are few people in my life who have stood by me, Grissom.I'm a self-destructive person. I'm sure you know that. You're not the first one to save me from myself. Myles… was there for me when I needed him most. I owe him for that."

He nodded slowly, staring at her intently. "Okay", he said simply.

She pursed her lips, adding the unnecessary, but needing him to know. "I trust you to handle the evidence and prove what you need to."

"I'll try my best".

She felt a small smile tug at her lips. At least something resembling their version of amity had been restored between them. "I don't doubt it".

She turned back towards the door of her apartment, but he stopped her quietly. "Sara?"

She glanced back at him, questioning marring her face. He heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. "Be… careful with this, okay? I don't want you to get hurt".

She blinked, touched by his obvious concern for her welfare. She nodded quickly, masking her surprise. "You know me".

He smiled; eyes alight with the unmistakable ache of familiarity. "Yes. I do".

She murmured a goodbye, closing the door gently behind her, and glancing across the room to see Myles sprawled out on her sofa, already asleep. She sagged against the door, leaning her head back against the wood surface and closed her eyes.

Knowing that Grissom supported her gave her more confidence in herself than she had thought she needed. She only hoped it would somehow help her to make it through this unscathed.

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_San Francisco, California  
__1988_

"Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

"Like I would be".

Myles sounded weary, and older than his years. Sara frowned, hesitating around the side of the house, making a mental decision to wait for Ryan to leave.

The sound of an engine roaring to life a few minutes later was unmistakable, and she waited until the squeal of breaks signalled his progress down the road before emerging from her hiding place.

Myles sat on a lawn chair, staring distantly at a spot somewhere on the horizon. His confined backyard was just as rundown as the inside of the house, littered with garbage and spare parts, and overgrown with weeds. It occurred to her that he had not attempted to make it into a home. She wondered if he even thought of it that way.

"Myles".

He blinked, lifting his gaze to look at her, shielding his eyes from the mid afternoon sun. A small smile broke out on his face, but it was tinged with something else, something like sadness and resignation. "Sunshine."

"What are you planning with Ryan?"

The question came out without preamble, and Sara stared down at him intently, waiting to see if he would answer. Myles avoided her gaze for the first time since she had met him, looking troubled.

"You were listening".

Sara frowned. "It wasn't hard. You've been talking about it for weeks now. Ryan comes over unannounced and you disappear for hours. What are you doing?"

Abruptly, he lifted himself to his feet, arms straining under his cotton t-shirt. "It's nothing for to worry about, okay?"

Sara scoffed disbelievingly, following him as he retreated into the coolness of the house. Ryan was dictating their relationship, and neither of them had bothered to deny it. They hadn't even discussed what had happened the other night. That had been her initial intention in coming over there, until she heard what they were talking about from the other side of the house. Scheming.

"Don't just walk away from me and pretend something isn't going on".

Myles laughed humourlessly, standing behind the counter and retrieving a can of soda from the fridge. "I don't need you to be involved".

"Right. Because you think I need protecting".

"You _do_ need protecting", Myles snapped. "You don't know what Ryan is capable of. You've been living under the same roof for months and you have no idea. You don't need to".

Sara was taken aback by his aggression towards her foster brother. She knew Ryan wasn't a saint. She knew she couldn't trust him. She hadn't trusted anyone, not until… not until Myles came along.

"If I'm in some kind of danger, I'd like to know", she retorted, furrowing her brow.

Myles shook his head. "Knowing will put you in danger."

She hated the way he still dismissed her like she was a child. A child who needed his protection.

"Is this going to get you into trouble, Myles?" she asked softly, lowering her voice. Her eyes were wide, and despite her qualms to the contrary, conveyed her inexorable innocence.

Myles met her gaze. Met with her trust and concern, he didn't want to lie. "It might", he admitted carefully. "Which is why I don't want you to know about it".

Sara closed her eyes at his honesty. "Why are you doing this?"

Myles shrugged. "I'm stuck, Sara. I can't get out of it, and I can't run away."

She didn't need to know the specifics to know he was in trouble. The problem was, so was she. Her feelings for him were overtaking her rational senses, and she was being dragged into it whether she wanted to or not. She had never asked for Myles to protect her, and she remained firmly of the belief that it was something she didn't need.

She studied the Formica countertop intently, and the condensation that clung to the base of Myles soda, pooling water on the counter beneath it. She drew in a breath, and when she opened her mouth, she knew she was about to make a mistake. And there was nothing in the world that could possibly hold her back.

"Then let me help".

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End file.
